Dorothea was at the desk in her room writing a note as Kate entered,—a note she hastily turned over blank side up as she saw her visitor. There was a rather flurried look on her face, as Kate said, "Am I interrupting you?" though she answered readily enough, "Oh, no; I thought it was one of the servants when you knocked, that's all." Then, not very cordially, "Won't you sit down?"
This was not a very promising beginning, and Kate's heart began to fail her. At this point, however, she caught sight of a photograph. It was the photograph of Raymond Armitage, and her courage returned.
Dorothea had seen her glance of recognition, and remarked coolly: "Isn't it like him? He's very handsome, I think, don't you?"
"I—I don't know," stammered Kate; then, throwing all hesitation to the winds, she began to speak, and this she did at the start in the kindest, gentlest way in the world, telling of what she had seen and heard, as she had told Hope and Myra, and winding up with: "I felt that I ought to speak to you—to tell you what you might not know—how much all this would affect Miss Marr and injure yourself; that if—if she heard—if she knew—she might—might write to your parents, and ask them—to—to take you home."
"Oh, I see—expel me, that's what you mean. The old cat, she won't do any such thing! I never saw anything like the way you all go on over that woman. I like her well enough. I was tremendously taken with her and her tailor gowns when I first came, but I didn't bow down before her as the rest of you did, and I have never believed she was of so much consequence as she was set up to be; and as for her throwing away a lot of money by sending a girl off for being a little independent and having a little fun in her own way, she's too smart to do any such thing. My gracious! I should think I had tried to set the house on fire by the fuss you make! And what have I done? Just had a little sociable time with an acquaintance without asking leave of her High-and-Mightiness."
Kate had hard work to control herself. At the phrase "old cat," her very soul had risen up in revolt. To speak in such terms of Miss Marr!—Miss Marr, who was so fine and sweet, so considerate and sympathetic, who was indeed like an older girl friend to them all. And then, "What have I done? Just had a little sociable time with an acquaintance, without asking leave of her High-and-Mightiness." Kate lifted up her chin suddenly, as she recalled these words, and as coolly as she could, said,—
"I suppose you know that if you had asked for leave to write notes to Raymond Armitage, and to receive them from him, and to make appointments with him to go down town, and all that, it would have done no good,—that, of course, Miss Marr, or any head of a school, would not have given you permission."
"No, of course they wouldn't; but that's only one of the stiff little bars that boarding-schools set up."
"And you wouldn't want to do such things half as much if there were no bars against them."
"But what harm is there in 'such things,' as you call them? Suppose my cousin Jimmy was at boarding-school, and took a notion to write a note to a girl, and to meet her down town and drink ice-cream soda with her, would any teacher think he had done such a dreadful thing,—a thing for which he deserved to be expelled?"