"Well, I was. You did seem so sad—but I should have known you had better sense."
"I have been and am still very sad at Glenwood. In fact, I have almost made up my mind to leave."
"When?" gasped Viola. Then to hide the joy that Dorothy's words brought her, she continued, "Do you have to go? Is someone ill?"
"No, not at home. But I am afraid I'll be ill if I do not stop this worrying," and Dorothy indeed looked very pale and miserable. Even Viola could not help noticing that.
"I wouldn't blame you," spoke Viola. "It's dreadful to be homesick."
"But I am not homesick," replied Dorothy. "I would not allow that feeling to conquer me when I know what it meant for father to let me come here. I must make good use of my time, and not be foolish. But no matter how I try to be happy, it seems useless. And I know I am not strong enough to keep that up. So," and Dorothy sighed heavily, leaning her head against the blanket that covered the foot of her bed, "I feel I must go away!"
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She loved Glenwood and could not bear the thought of leaving the school which had been so pleasant before Tavia went, and before that awful afternoon in the hall.
"What I really wanted to ask you, Dorothy, is about that story."
"What story?"
"You are not listening to me, Dorothy, and I am just as miserable as I can be. Do tell me you will do what I ask."