And Dolly did see, but she was in no mood to enjoy the pretty details just then, for the sense of humiliation was weighing heavily upon her. In vain she tried to blow it away with the breath of anger,—to call Miss Marr "old Madam Prim," and Victor "that prig of a boy." Nothing of this kind availed to relieve her. Never in her life had she been so impressed by anybody as by Miss Marr, and she was also sure that she had also begun to impress Miss Marr, in her turn. And now and now!—and down on the pink and white bed Dolly flung herself in a paroxysm of mingled regret, rage, mortification, and disappointment, and, like the big, overgrown, undisciplined child that she was, sobbed herself to sleep.
The short October afternoon had come nearly to an end when she woke; and she looked about her in dismay. It must be late; and, springing up, she glanced at her watch. It was half-past four. At this moment she heard, in the hall outside, a murmur of girls' voices. One called, "Miss Marr;" and another said, "The Boston train was delayed, or I should have been here earlier."
Then followed a soft tinkle of laughter, a little tap of heels, and an opening and shutting of doors. Dolly, listening, knew what this meant,—knew that these girls were the late arrivals, the returning pupils.
"And they all know each other," she commented rather lonesomely and enviously, "and I shall dress myself and get down before them. I'm not going to enter a room full of strange girls, if I know it!"
Dolly's taste was generally excellent. She knew what to wear and when to wear it; but some mistaken idea of outshining those strange girls at the start took possession of her, and instead of putting on a gown suited to the occasion, she donned a fine affair,—a combination of old-rose cashmere and velvet, with rose ribbons at her throat. As she left the room in this finery, she saw a door farther down the hall open, and a tall slender girl, dressed with the severest simplicity, come forth.
One of those strange girls! And Dolly, as they met, stared at her, with her head in the air. But the strange girl, with a matter of course manner, gave a little courteous inclination of greeting as she passed, whereat Dolly grew rather red. "I wonder if that is the girl who talked about 'my train,'" thought Dolly. "I'll bet it is. She has a look like that girl I saw one day last spring with the Edlicotts at Papanti's dancing-school. I wonder what her name is."
As the girl ran lightly down the stairs, one of the maids came up. Dolly stopped her and asked, "Is that one of the pupils?"
"Yes, miss."
"What is her name?"
"Miss Hope Benham."