But the next morning when Betty went in to escort Miss Hale to breakfast, the orange-blossoms had disappeared.
“Oh, I threw them away,” Ethel explained, when Betty ventured to inquire for them. “I can’t bear the fragrance of them in a room.”
“Father didn’t send them at all,” Betty decided swiftly. “It was Dr. Eaton, and Ethel wouldn’t keep them on that account. I do wonder why she dislikes him so.”
But for reasons of her own Betty did not confide her theory about the donor of the flowers to her match-making friends. She had a feeling that, since she knew Ethel so much better than the rest did, she was pledged, so to speak, to stand between her and the absurd schemes of the match-makers. For Ethel was tired and unhappy—so she and Madeline had discovered—and when people are unhappy they don’t always appreciate fun and jokes. To be sure, Ethel had seemed to appreciate all the fun they had had so far on the trip.
“But I can’t help thinking,” Betty reflected, “that she wouldn’t like this. Dr. Eaton must have offended her in some way that he doesn’t know about—though it isn’t like Ethel to harbor a grudge. He evidently doesn’t suspect how she feels—or yes—maybe that was why he was so embarrassed when he found that she was with us. Oh, dear! it’s all awfully complicated. But it’s a great deal too hot down here to argue about it with Mary Brooks, so I shall just let them get all the fun they can out of thinking the other way—as long as they don’t bother Ethel.”
“A penny for your thoughts, little sister,” said Ethel, wondering at her companion’s unaccustomed silence.
Betty came out of her brown study with a guilty start. “You haven’t a penny,” she retorted gaily. “You gave all yours to Roberta, so that she could take as many pictures as she wanted without using dimes to pay the children.”