“Everything is important, Countess Coletti,” smiled the principal, “but I think we shall arrange it for your daughter not to be lost. Here, Betty, is the schedule we have made out for Miss Coletti. See if you have any classes together?”
With the principal, Betty, feeling rather important for a modest body like herself, worked out a program for the day. She would take Lucia to her first class, introduce her to the teacher and leave her there, stopping for her at the close of the period without losing much time, since the recitation rooms happened to be near. They had the same home room, which made it easy to begin the day together. Betty herself had not been there on the opening morning and had been forced to see her home room teacher later in the day, to find out many things. There were practically no recitations of any length, and periods were shortened for an assembly. Lunch, fortunately, would be prepared in the lunch rooms and the full day’s schedule carried out, an unusual proceeding even for the third day, why, Betty did not know.
“Your daughter, Madam, need not worry at all. In case she becomes confused, there is always the office. We are ready to rescue any pupil, and without reproof in these opening days. I hope that Miss Lucia will enjoy the new experience.”
With this the interview closed. Betty showed the countess how to reach her car, but with the ringing of the gongs, she and Lucia went to find their home room and report.
It was a home room of girls, to be sure, but Betty felt a little self-conscious as she accompanied Lucia to the desk and introduced her to their home room teacher, not the dear Miss Heath, but a teacher to whom Betty had not happened to recite in her freshman year. Keen eyes appraised her and Lucia, who was not at all embarrassed. Lucia was accustomed to being stared at and to traveling around. As long as Betty kept her from being lost about places and duties, it was all right. What difference did it make to her what impression she was making?
“Lucia Coletti,” the teacher repeated, taking the card from Lucia and pronouncing the name correctly, as Betty had given it. She made a few notes on a paper at hand. “Is she a friend of yours, Betty Lee?”
“Yes’m. That is, I’m showing her around because she is new to everything. She just came to New York on the Statendam and has been to school in Switzerland.”
Miss Orme, who was accustomed to meet many Italian children in the city schools, revised her first impression made by the name, and looked again at this easily poised girl who had been to school in Switzerland. Lucia met her gaze without interest, politely waiting directions. “Lucia is the daughter of——”
“Count Coletti, of Milan,” suddenly said Lucia, to Betty’s surprise. Betty had not intended to tell the teacher who Lucia was, then thought perhaps she’d better, for Lucia’s sake, for her relatives, the Murchisons, were well-known in the city and it would be better, too, for Miss Orme to place the girl at once in her mind. But why did Lucia forestall the introduction as her mother’s daughter? Perhaps that was it. Was there some idea of loyalty to her father, or was she just proud of it?
“Oh, yes,” laconically replied Miss Orme, who had, unfortunately, a rooted distaste for American women that married foreigners. “I think I have heard of your mother. Betty, there is a vacant seat across from you on the back row. Too bad you are both so late, but you can get from the other girls what has already been said about many of the details. Show Lucia to her seat, Betty.”