"But, Mattie," I faltered, "how can I—I—"
"Nonsense!" was the retort. "Here, now, we have an intermission. Come along, Kate, Bob; we're going over to see some friends."
"I STOOD BACK, ASHAMED OF MY POSITION AMONG THEM ALL."
How it was done I never knew, but in a few moments I was following Mattie along a corridor, ashamed of everything about me, the more so when we got into the side room, where she knew the Sydneys were to be found, and I saw Laura's startled recognition of me, and Philip's evident surprise. Mattie pushed me forward. I managed the introductions; and, oh! what a contrast there was between the two girls! Laura's pretty, gentle manner, Mattie's boisterous, dashing one, and Bob and Philip looking at each other with nothing to say, while I stood back, ashamed of my position among them all.
"We went to the school for you," Laura said, presently, "and Miss Harding was out."
Mattie said nothing for an instant; then, with a blush, she said, looking straight into Laura's honest face:
"Miss Harding made an exception in our favor. She refused the general invitation."
In the silence which followed this audacious speech I turned away, not daring to meet the look Philip gave me. I stood by the window, looking out, and while Mattie chatted on, I tried to see how this day would end. Not that I feared Miss Harding, but that I felt I never should know how to shake myself free of the vulgar associations in which my dear Laura had found me; nor could I ever forget I had so placed myself that a lie was told for my benefit. Benefit! If you could have seen me, a miserable, unhappy little girl in borrowed clothes, standing in that window, with a forlorn expression and tightly clasped hands, you would not have thought there was much "fun" in this escapade, nor much "benefit" in its results; I heard the voices in a dreamy sort of way; I heard Philip and Laura saying they were going to take tea at Professor Patton's—the big brick house next the academy. Then, to my surprise, I heard Mattie say we were to stay all night at the Riverses'. There was to be a sort of party. I felt desperate. Laura and Philip said good-by pleasantly, and I could only look at them with a piteous air of appeal. They were gone; we were again in the lecture-room, and I had not recovered my wits, or at least my sense of what I ought to do, until I found myself, with the same boisterous party, driving to Mrs. Rivers's house, half a mile from the academy.
The Riverses had a large showy house; and on entering I was received by an overdressed stout lady, to whom all the young people talked with the sort of rough freedom which is sometimes called "Young America," and which so completely does away with the sacredness of "Mother."