Dorothy was certain a tear glistened in Viola's eye.
"Alone!" repeated the visitor. "Viola, dear, if you would only let me be your friend—"
"Dorothy Dale!" and the girl's eyes flashed in anger. "I will have none of your preaching. You came here to pry into my affairs just as you did on the train, when you made me tell all about my dear, darling mother's illness, before those giggling girls. Yes, you need not play innocent. I know the kind of girl you are. 'Sugar coated!' But you may take your sympathy where strangers will be fooled by it. Try it on some of the Babes. But you must never again attempt to meddle in my affairs. If you do I'll tell Miss Higley. So there! Are you satisfied now?"
Dorothy was stunned. Was this flaming, flashing girl the same that had smiled upon her when the sick mother was present? What was that strange unnatural gleam in the black eyes? Anger or jealousy?
"I am sorry," faltered Dorothy; then she turned and left the room.
One hour later Tavia found Dorothy buried in her pillows. Tears would still come to her eyes, although she had struggled bravely to suppress them.
"Doro!" exclaimed her friend in surprise. "Are you homesick?"
"No," sobbed the miserable girl. "It isn't exactly homesick—." Then the thought came to her that she should not implicate Viola, she had promised to save her from further suffering. Surely she had enough with the sick mother.
"Then what is it?" demanded Tavia.
"Oh, I don't know, Tavia," and she tried again to check her tears, "but I just had to cry."