One miserable day Dorothy found all her friends, at least those who had claimed to be her friends, suddenly lost to her. Those who were not openly rude enough to deliberately turn their backs upon the astonished girl, made some pretense of avoiding conversation with her.
It all came so unexpectedly, and without any apparent explanation, that Dorothy was stunned—even the effervescent Edna only gave her a measured smile and walked down the hall to the study room without breaking her silence.
The day wore on like a dream of awful fancies that try to choke but withhold even such a mercy as a final stroke.
What had she done? Where was Rose-Mary? And why would not someone come and accuse her outright, that she might at least know the charge against her—a charge serious enough to spread in one day throughout Glenwood school!
Evening fell, but even then Rose-Mary did not come to Dorothy's room. On the following day there was to be a rehearsal for the play, and how could Lalia repeat her lines? How could Dorothy pretend to be the happy little pilgrim who starts alone on the uncertain path of life?
Mrs. Pangborn was ready in the recreation hall, some of the others were there discussing their characters and other things. The hour for the rehearsal came, and with it appeared some twenty girls, among them, but not their leader (so it seemed) being Viola Green.
They approached Mrs. Pangborn and then Adele Thomas spoke.
"Mrs. Pangborn," she began with flushed cheeks, "we have come to say that we cannot take part in the play unless another girl is selected for the character of Lalia."
"Why!" demanded the astonished principal. "What does this mean!" and she too flushed at the very idea of her pupils' insurrection.
"Because—" faltered the spokeswoman, "we do not like her. She has pretended to be what she is not, and never will be."