“She can,” said Gladys instantly. “She can room with me. I am the only girl in school who hasn’t a room-mate. You wait”—and Gladys, without another word, hurried out of the room. She very well knew that after nine Miss Ashton disliked a call unless there was some imperative necessity for it, so she knocked so gently on the closed door that she was hardly heard; and when at last Miss Ashton appeared, she looked so tired, and her smile was so wan, that Gladys, eager as she was, wished she had been more thoughtful; but, in her impulsive way, she blundered out,—
“She can come to me. I’m all alone, you know.”
“Who can come to you, Gladys?” If it had been any other of her pupils, Miss Ashton would have been surprised; but three years had taught her that this Florida girl was exceptional. 19
“Two Hundred! Dorothy says she is lovely, with big eyes, and lonely”—
“You mean Marion Parke?”
“Yes, that’s her name. We all call her Two Hundred.”
“Then you must not call her so any more. It would annoy her.”
“I never will if you’ll please let her come and room with me. It’s such a cheerful room, and I’ll be ever so nice to her, Miss Ashton; try me, and see.”
“But, Gladys, you know your father pays me an extra price for your having your room to yourself.”
“I think, Miss Ashton,”—looking earnestly in Miss Ashton’s face,—“he would be ashamed of me if I wasn’t willing to share it with her. Please! I’ll be as amiable as an angel.”