CHAPTER XIV
THE INITIATION
The first days at Glenwood revolved like a magic kaleidoscope—all bits of brilliant things, nothing tangible, and nothing seemingly important. Dorothy had made her usual good friends—Tavia her usual jolly chums. But Viola Green remained a mystery.
She certainly had avoided speaking to Dorothy, and had not even taken the trouble to avoid Tavia—she "cut her dead." Edna tried to persuade Tavia that "Fiddle" was a privileged character, and that the seeming slights were not fully intended; but Tavia knew better.
"She may be as odd as she likes," insisted the matter of fact girl from Dalton, "but she must not expect me to smile at her ugliness—it is nothing else—pure ugliness."
Dorothy had sought out Viola, but it was now plain that the girl purposely avoided her.
"Perhaps she is worrying about her mother, poor dear," thought the sympathetic Dorothy. "I must insist on cheering her up. A nice walk through these lovely grounds ought to brighten her. And the leaves on these hills are perfectly glorious. I must ask her to go with me on my morning walk. I'll go to her room to-night after tea—during recreation. I have not seen her out a single morning yet."
So Dorothy mused, and so she acted according to the logical result of that musing. At recreation time that evening Dorothy tapped gently on the door of Number Twelve.
The door was slightly ajar, and Dorothy could hear the sounds of papers being hastily gathered up. Then Viola came to the entrance.
"May I come in?" asked Dorothy, surprised that Viola should have made the question necessary.