“Don’t you want to see the note?” asked Dr. Eaton, rummaging through a drawer of his desk. “Here it is, and you’ll find it a beautiful performance. I must confess,” he added soberly, “that it worried me a good deal. You see, Miss Wales, I’m new at teaching, and I was afraid I hadn’t conducted myself discreetly.”
“When did it come?” asked Betty, laughing over Mr. Alison’s heroics.
“The last morning of last term.”
“Then that was why you were so cross. We thought it must have come then.”
Dr. Eaton laughed. “Was I cross? I didn’t mean to be. I only meant to be dignified. You see, Miss Wales, I,—well, I have a particular reason for wishing my work here to be successful. A great deal depends on this year.”
His sudden turn to seriousness reminded Betty that she had been wasting nearly an hour of the great Dr. Eaton’s afternoon, and she jumped up to go.
But Dr. Eaton stopped her. “You must tell ‘The Merry Hearts,’” he said, “that I fully appreciate Georgia, and that I will forgive them for victimizing me on one condition. I insist upon being an honorary member of the club. Don’t you think I’ve fairly earned a membership?”
“Yes indeed,” laughed Betty. “The only trouble is that Madeline may black-ball you because you say nicer things about Georgia’s themes than you do about hers. But I’ll do my best for you.”
“Thank you,” said Dr. Eaton. “Tell Miss Ayres that I shall have her double’s photograph suitably framed and hung in a conspicuous place on the walls of my den.”