Frances rose.
“Mrs. Markham,” she said to the matron of Queen’s, “if I can’t eat here without having my clothes sneered at, I shall be obliged to have my meals carried to my room hereafter.”
Then she marched out of the dining room.
Mrs. Markham looked greatly embarrassed and nobody spoke for some time.
“Good heavens!” said Judy at last in a low voice to Molly, “what’s to be done now?”
“Why don’t you write her a little note,” replied Molly, “and tell her that you hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings and had honestly admired her dress.”
“Apologize!” exclaimed Judy, her proud spirit recoiling at the ignoble thought. “I simply couldn’t.”
But since her attack on Molly, Judy had been very much ashamed of herself, and she was now taking what she called “self-control in broken doses,” like the calomel treatment; that night she actually wrote a note to Frances and shoved it under the door. In answer to this abject missive she received one line, written with purple ink on highly scented heavy note paper:
“Dear Miss Kean,” it ran, “I accept your apology.
“Yours sincerely,
“Frances Le Grand Andrews.”