For a moment a resplendent vision of a raven-haired hero blotted out poor Billy's image, and the little girl winked fast to keep back the tears. She had learned a lesson not down on the Ryder schedule and found it overwhelming, but she managed to smile faintly.
"Yes, I did get the flowers. Thank you so much," she said in a small, wobbly voice.
The carriage door slammed and she was whirled away, while Billy stood gazing fatuously into the night.
The next morning there were long-stemmed single violets and shredded photographs in the Ryder ash-can.
CHAPTER VIII
THE QUEER LITTLE THING
BONITA ALLEN was a queer little thing. Everyone in the school, from Miss Ryder down to the chambermaid, had made remarks to that effect before the child had spent forty-eight hours in the house, yet no one seemed able to give a convincing reason for the general impression.
The new pupil was quiet, docile, moderately well dressed, fairly good looking. She did nothing extraordinary. In fact, she effaced herself as far as possible; yet from the first she caused a ripple in the placid current of the school, and her personality was distinctly felt.
"I think it's her eyes," hazarded Belinda, as she and Miss Barnes discussed the newcomer in the Youngest Teacher's room. "They aren't girl eyes at all."