Gwendolyn turned toward Dorothy with a smile intended to be cordial, and asked:
“Is that so, indeed? Then I suppose you’ll have to get a rig like ours if you want to try the slide.”
“Yes, I suppose so. The Bishop asked the Lady Principal to get me one, but I don’t suppose she can right away. Nobody could go shopping in such weather, and I suppose they have to be bought in town.”
“The blankets are bought there, but usually the suits are made at home before we come; or else by the matron and some of the maids here. I—”
A look of keener interest had come into her face, but she said nothing further and a moment later went out again.
As the portieres fell together behind her, Winifred threw up her hands in comic despair.
“Whatever is the matter with that girl? or with me—or you—or you!” pointing to one and another around her. “She wants to be friendly—and so do we! But there’s something wrong and I don’t know what.”
“I do,” said a sweet-faced “Seventher,” who had been quietly studying during all this noise. “Poor Gwendolyn is sorry but isn’t one bit humble. She’s absolutely just and has done what she believed right. But it hasn’t helped her much. She’s fully as proud as she ever was, and the only way we can help her is by loving her. We’ve got to love her or she’ll grow harder than ever.”
“You can’t make love as you’d make a—a pin-cushion!” returned Florita Sheraton, holding up, to illustrate, a Christmas gift she was embroidering.