"Ah, yes. Jane is what mon père would call 'the good sport,'" agreed Adrienne. "She is the strange girl; sometimes fierce like the lion over the small troubles. When come the great misfortunes she has calm courage."
Re-entering Mrs. Weatherbee's office, Jane seated herself resignedly to wait for the appearance of the matron. When fifteen minutes had passed and she was still waiting, the stock of "calm courage" attributed to her by Adrienne, began to dwindle into nettled impatience.
She now wished that she had not given her name to the maid. It looked as if Mrs. Weatherbee were purposely keeping her waiting. This thought stirred afresh in Jane the old antagonism that the matron had always aroused.
After half an hour had dragged by Jane heard footsteps descending the stairs to the accompaniment of the faint rustle of silken skirts. She sat suddenly very straight in her chair, her mood anything but lamb-like.
"Good afternoon, Miss Allen," greeted a cool voice.
Mrs. Weatherbee rustled into the little office, injured dignity written on every feature of her austere face.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Weatherbee."
Courtesy to an older woman prompted Jane to rise. Her tone, however, was one of strained politeness. There was no move made toward handshaking by either.
"I was greatly surprised to learn that you wished to see me, Miss Allen," was the matron's first remark after seating herself in the chair before her writing desk.
Mrs. Weatherbee's intonations were decidedly accusing. Jane colored at the emphasis placed on the "you."