Dorothy’s heart sank. Uncle Seth’s last advice to her had been:
“Whenever you feel blue, just wave your flag of high courage and march ahead. Don’t stop to think! March, march, march—toward the better time that will surely come.”
But that high-courage flag hung limply now and she felt she could never again wave it at all. But, fortunately, the Lady Principal now rose to terminate the interview. Touching an electric bell for the maid on night duty, she said:
“It is very late and you are tired. Dawkins will show you to your cubicle and assist you in undressing. You may omit your bath, to-night, and are allowed an extra hour of sleep in the morning. Where are your suit case and hand bag?”
Dorothy rose, as the lady did, but a fresh feeling of guilt made her eyes fall as she murmured:
“I—don’t—know.”
“Don’t know!” echoed the Lady Principal, in amazement. Then directing Dawkins to supply what was needed, she returned to her interrupted repose, while Dorothy wearily followed the stern-faced maid; being cautioned, meanwhile:
“Do not dare to make a noise and arouse the young ladies.”
Yet arrived at the cubicle, or small division of the great dormitory which had been assigned her, Dorothy realized that Dawkins was kinder than she looked. For presently she was being undressed, her face and hands sponged with cool water, and herself reclothed with the freshest of gowns. Then she was bodily lifted into the dainty little bed as if she were a baby.