"Try to forgive you—to love you as well as I did before," cried Kate, pressing Hope's cheek against her own. "I've nothing to forgive; and as for loving you as well as I did before, I love you better, if that were possible, for before, though I thought I knew you pretty well, I didn't know how more than generous you could be. Love you? I love and admire you beyond anybody; I—"
"Girls, girls, it's after talking hours," whispered Anna Fleming, as she pushed open the door. "I've just come from your room, Hope, where I've been with Myra, and the lights are all being turned down in the halls, and so we must say good-night and scatter to bed."
"Oh, yes, I ought not to have stayed so long," whispered back Hope, apologetically. "Good-night!" and "Good-night!" "Good-night" responded Anna and Kate in chorus; but Kate managed to add slyly in a lower whisper to Hope,—
"I'll smile upon her a little, but not too much, Hope dear."
CHAPTER XXIII.
The next morning was rather dreaded by Dorothea. She had really suffered from a headache the night before, and with that excuse had been allowed to keep her room, and have a light supper sent up to her.
"But I wish I hadn't—I wish to goodness I'd gone down last night!" she said petulantly to herself, as she faced the morning's sunshine. She had full faith in Hope and her promise, and was therefore quite secure that not one of the girls would know of that mortifying little episode at the end of yesterday's escapade; and this was the most that she cared for. But yet, in spite of this, she had a certain very uncomfortable feeling about meeting Kate Van der Berg and "that set," as she called the little group of girls of which Kate seemed the natural head and leader. A very uncomfortable feeling; for though that mortifying episode was a safe secret, the rest of the escapade was the common property of Kate and Hope; "and of course," argued Dorothea, "Kate Van der Berg has told all she knows to the others, and they'll just take her little pattern of things, and set up and look at me, and think how the naughty girl was taken care of by Mrs. Sibley and Hope. Oh, oh, if it hadn't been for that horrid Raymond Armitage's being so mean and selfish at the end,—well, I've found him out!—I shouldn't have had to accept Hope's offer,—though it was awfully good of her, and I was awfully glad to accept, as things turned out. But if things hadn't turned out as they did,—if Ray Armitage had behaved himself, I needn't have accepted, and then if I had come back in the cars, as I went, I should have taken the risks and they'd have known that I was independent. But now, though thank Heaven they won't know why I accepted Hope's offer, they'll know that I did accept it, and so they'll stare at me as the naughty little girl who had to give in!"
It will be seen by this argument that Dorothea's state of mind was not yet what it should be. It will also be seen that, harboring such a state of mind, it was quite natural that she should find herself decidedly uncomfortable at the prospect of facing "that set." But it had to be done, however. There was no use in putting it off; and with a final glance at the mirror, a final pat to her smooth shining hair, Dorothea started off toward the dining-room. As she gained the lower hall, she heard a mingled sound of various voices issuing from the room, and ruefully thought: "Late as it is, they're all there! Why didn't I get up earlier? I might have known they'd be late Sunday morning. Now all eyes will be glaring at me when I open the door!"
But as she opened the door, beyond one or two of the girls looking up with a preoccupied air and a hasty good-morning, no notice was taken of her. "That set" and indeed the whole assembled company were in the very thick of an animated talk concerning the origin and observance of Saint Valentine's Day.