Then came the last day of school, which began with leave-takings and embraces. There were not many who embraced Cynthia, though, had she known it, this was largely her own fault. Poor Cynthia! how was she to know it? Many more of them than she imagined would have liked to embrace her had they believed that the embrace would be returned. Secretly they had grown to admire this strange, dark girl, who was too proud to bend for the good opinion of any one—even of Miss Sally Broke. Once during the term Cynthia had held some of them—in the hollow of her hand, and had incurred the severe displeasure of Miss Sadler by refusing to tell what she knew of certain mischief-makers.
Now, Miss Sadler was going about among them in the school parlor saying good-by, sending particular remembrance to such of the fathers and mothers as she thought worthy of that honor; kissing some, shaking, hands with all. It was then that a dramatic incident occurred—dramatic for a girls' school, at least. Cynthia deliberately turned her back on Miss Sadler and looked out of the window. The chatter in the room was hushed, and for a moment a dangerous wrath flamed in Miss Sadler's eyes. Then she passed on with a smile, to send most particular messages to the mother of Miss Isabel Burrage.
Some few moments afterward Cynthia felt a touch on her arm, and turned to find herself confronted by Miss Sally Broke. Unfortunately there is not much room for Miss Broke in this story, although she may appear in another one yet to be written. She was extremely good-looking, with real golden hair and mischievous blue eyes. She was, in brief, the leader of Miss Sadler's school.
“Cynthia,” she said, “I was rude to you when you first came here, and I'm sorry for it. I want to beg your pardon.” And she held out her hand.
There was a moment's suspense for those watching to see if Cynthia would take it. She did take it.
“I'm sorry, too,” said Cynthia, simply, “I couldn't see what I'd done to offend you. Perhaps you'll explain now.”
Miss Broke blushed violently, and for an instant looked decidedly uncomfortable. Then she burst into laughter,—merry, irresistible laughter that carried all before it.
“I was a snob, that's all,” said she, “just a plain, low down snob. You don't understand what that means, because you're not one.” (Cynthia did understand, ) “But I like you, and I want you to be my friend. Perhaps when I get to know you better, you will come home with me sometime for a visit.”
Go home with her for a visit to that house in Washington Square with the picture gallery!
“I want to say that I'd give my head to have been able to turn my back on Miss Sadler as you did,” continued Miss Broke; “if you ever want a friend, remember Sally Broke.”