“No-o,” said Marion slowly. “O Dody! Dody!”
“Marion! there is something the matter with you. Sit down in this chair. No, lie down on the lounge. No, on your bed. You’d better undress while I go for the matron. I’ll be very quick.”
“Don’t go, Dody! Don’t go,” and Marion caught tight hold of Dorothy’s arm, holding her fast. “I’m not sick; I’m frightened.”
But in spite of her words, indeed more alarmed by them, Dorothy broke away and rushed down to the matron’s room, who, fortunately, was out. Then she went for Miss Ashton, but she also had not returned. So Dorothy, unwilling to leave Marion alone any longer, went back to her.
While she was gone, Marion had time to resolve what she would do, at least for the present; she would leave Susan in her own time and way to make a full confession, which she tried to persuade herself after a little that she would certainly do. So when Dorothy came back she met her with a smile, told her not to be troubled, that it was the first time in her life such a thing had ever happened, and she hoped it never would again.
“But you said you were frightened,” insisted Dorothy, “and you looked so pale; what frightened you?”
Marion hesitated; to tell any one, even Dorothy, would be to accuse Susan of such a mean deception. 101 No; her resolve so suddenly made was the proper one: she would keep her knowledge of the thing until Susan herself confessed, or assurance was made doubly sure; for suppose, after all, Susan had written the story, how could she have known about it in that magazine? She had never lent it to her; she had never read it to any of her room-mates, or to any one in the school, proud of it as she was. Indeed, the more she thought of it, the more sure she was that she ought to be ashamed of herself for such a suspicion, and, strange as it may seem, the more sure she also was, that almost word by word Susan had stolen the story.
“I was frightened at a thought I had, a dreadful thought; I wouldn’t have any one know it. Don’t ask me, Dody, please don’t; let us talk about something else,” she said.
Then she began to talk rapidly over the events of the evening, not, as Dorothy noticed, mentioning Susan or her success. Dorothy wondered over it, and an unpleasant thought came into her mind.
“Can it be that Marion is jealous of Sue, and disappointed and vexed that her piece wasn’t taken any more notice of? I’m sure it was an excellent story, ‘How Ben Fought a Prairie Fire.’” Marion had read it to her before handing it in, and she had been much interested in it, but it didn’t compare with Susan’s, and it wasn’t like Marion to feel so. She never had shown such a spirit before.