CHAPTER XVIII
DOROTHY'S SACRIFICE
The day had been unusually tiresome, all the little spots of jollity, club meetings, evening fudge parties and the like having suddenly been abandoned, and Dorothy, with Rose-Mary, was trying to find comfort in watching a winter sunset.
"Did you know Mrs. Pangborn had come back?" asked Rose, burying her chin in her palms, and dropping into a reclining attitude.
"No," said Dorothy, simply, still watching the floating clouds.
"Yes, and I overheard a maid ask Viola Green to go to the office after tea."
"Viola?" echoed Dorothy abstractedly.
"Of course you know it is she who made all this fuss, and I'm right glad she has been called to give an explanation at last."
"I have not been able to get the least hint of what it was all about," mused Dorothy. "I had a letter from Tavia to-day, and I'm afraid she cannot come back this term. My last lingering hope went out when I read that. Tavia would be sure to dig it out someway."
Rose-Mary thought how foolish had been the talk she had "dug out," and smiled when she imagined Tavia at work at such nonsense. But she would not pain Dorothy with the thought of that talk – too silly and too unkind to bother her with, – decided Rose, so that then, as well as on other occasions when the opportunity came to her to mention the arrest story, she let it pass.
"Let's go see Dick," suggested Rose, "we'll find Ned there and perhaps we may manage some fun. I'm positively getting musty."
"You go," said Dorothy, just as Rose had expected, "I'll do my exercises – I'm pages behind."
"Not without you," argued the other, "I have lots I ought to do, but I'm going to cut it for this night. Come along," and she took Dorothy's arm. "I'm dying to hear Ned sing a coon song."
But they found number twenty-three vacant. Edna was out, so was Molly, in fact everybody seemed to be out, for knots of girls talked in every corner of the halls and always stopped speaking when Dorothy and Rose came up to them.
"It's the investigation!" whispered Rose. "They are waiting for Viola; did you ever see such a crowd of magpies."
"I'm going in," said Dorothy, nervously. "I can't bear the way they look at me."
"All right," assented Rose, "I'll see you home since I dragged you out. And I'll promise to make known to you the words of the very first bulletin. Sorry to be so cruel, but I cannot find any sympathy in my heart for Viola Green."
"Oh, indeed I can," spoke up the kind-hearted Dorothy. "She has so much worry about her mother. And perhaps she inherits some peculiar trait – "
"Bottle Green, I suppose. Well, you can pity her if you like, but I will save mine until I know why."
So Rose-Mary kissed Dorothy good-night – she had done so regularly of late, and the two friends parted. For some time the hum of voices could be heard in the corridor outside Dorothy's door, then the lights were turned out and everything seemed as usual.
But in room twelve Viola Green was struggling – struggling with a weighty problem. What Mrs. Pangborn had said to her that evening in the office meant for Viola dismissal from school, unless – unless —
Viola was thinking of a plan. Surely she could make Dorothy agree to it, Dorothy was so easy to manage, so easy to influence.
In room nineteen Dorothy had not yet gone to her bed. She felt nervous and restless. Then too, she had fully decided to leave Glenwood and she had to think over what that meant for her, for her father and for Aunt Winnie.
What explanation could she make? She had never been a coward, why could she not face this thing and show everybody that she deserved no blame?
Surely Major Dale's Little Captain should display better courage than to let a crowd of foolish schoolgirls drive her from Glenwood!
Dorothy was thinking over the whole miserable affair when a timid knock came to her door.
It was too late for any of the girls – perhaps it was Mrs. Pangborn!
Dorothy opened the door promptly.
Viola Green stood before her – in a nightrobe, with her thick black hair falling about her like a pall.
"Viola!" whispered Dorothy, as kindly and quietly as if that girl had not stood between her and happiness.
"Oh, let me come in," begged the black-eyed girl in a wretched voice. "Quick! Some one may see me!"
"What is it?" asked Dorothy, making a chair ready and then turning up the light.
"Oh, please don't turn that up," begged the visitor. "I can't stand it! Dorothy, I feel as if I should die!"
Dorothy had felt that way herself a moment ago, but now there was someone else to look after; now she must not think of herself. How different it was with Viola! The ability to act is often a wonderful advantage. Viola made excellent use of her talent now.
"Dorothy," she began, "I have come to ask a great favor of you. And I do not know how to begin." She buried her face in her hands and left the other to draw out the interview as she might choose to. It was gaining time to lose it in that way.
"Is it about your mother?" asked the unsuspecting Dorothy.
"Yes, it is," wailed Viola. "It is really about her, although I am in it too."
"Is she worse?"
"Dreadfully bad" – and in this Viola did not deceive – . "I had a letter to-day – But Oh! Dorothy, promise you will help me!"
"I certainly will if I can!" declared Dorothy, warmly, quite anxious about Viola's grief.
"Oh, you can – and you are the only one who can! But how will I ask you?" and again Viola buried her white face in her equally white hands.
"Tell me what it is," said Dorothy, gently.
"Oh, you know that foolish story about the Dalton police wagon – "
"What about it?" asked Dorothy, perplexed.
"Oh, that nonsense about you and Tavia riding in it," and Viola tried to pass off the "nonsense" without allowing Dorothy time to realize just what she had to say.
"Well, what of that?" asked Dorothy again.
Would she ever grasp it? Viola was almost impatient, but of course she dare not show such a sentiment.
"Why, you know I told it to a couple of girls just for fun one day, and they took it up in earnest. The silly things! – and then to make all this trouble over it!"
"What trouble could that have possibly made?" and Dorothy seemed as much in the dark as ever.
Could it be that Dorothy had lived it all down and did not now consider it trouble? Viola's heart gave a jump for joy at the thought. It might after all be easier than she expected.
"I am so glad they have not said anything to you about it. I have been dreadfully worried over it," went on Viola with a sigh.
"I am sorry, I hope you haven't been worrying on my account."
"Well, I was. You did seem so sad – but I should have known you had better sense."
"I have been and am still very sad at Glenwood. In fact, I have almost made up my mind to leave."
"When?" gasped Viola. Then to hide the joy that Dorothy's words brought her, she continued, "Do you have to go? Is someone ill?"
"No, not at home. But I am afraid I'll be ill if I do not stop this worrying," and Dorothy indeed looked very pale and miserable. Even Viola could not help noticing that.
"I wouldn't blame you," spoke Viola. "It's dreadful to be homesick."
"But I am not homesick," replied Dorothy. "I would not allow that feeling to conquer me when I know what it meant for father to let me come here. I must make good use of my time, and not be foolish. But no matter how I try to be happy, it seems useless. And I know I am not strong enough to keep that up. So," and Dorothy sighed heavily, leaning her head against the blanket that covered the foot of her bed, "I feel I must go away!"
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She loved Glenwood and could not bear the thought of leaving the school which had been so pleasant before Tavia went, and before that awful afternoon in the hall.
"What I really wanted to ask you, Dorothy, is about that story."
"What story?"
"You are not listening to me, Dorothy, and I am just as miserable as I can be. Do tell me you will do what I ask."
"I certainly was listening, and I am sorry you are miserable. But what is it you want me to do?"
Viola decided instantly upon a bold strike. She would make her demand and then follow it up so closely Dorothy would not know just what she was giving her promise to.
"Mrs. Pangborn sent for me to-night, and gave me such a dreadful scolding, I just cried myself sick," said Viola, "and now when she sends for you, and asks you about that ride, I want you to promise you will not deny it!"
"Certainly I shall not deny it! Why should I?"
"Then, if she wants to know what it is all about, just don't give her any more information. Say you did ride in the patrol wagon and that I had not told a lie. She actually said she would dismiss me if – if you said I had told what was not true. And oh, Dorothy! You know that would kill mother! Just as sure as a shot from a gun would kill her, my dismissal from Glenwood would do it!"
"But why should you be dismissed? If you only told the story in fun, and it has done no harm – "
"Of course that's exactly the way to look at it. But I'm so afraid Mrs. Pangborn will take another view of it. Promise me, Dorothy! Oh, please promise me!" and Viola actually knelt before the girl on the bedside. "When Mrs. Pangborn asks for an explanation just say I told the truth, that you did ride in the police wagon. And then if she insists on hearing all the story make some excuse, but do not tell it! Oh! if you knew how worried I am! And how dreadful it would be if she took it into her head to dismiss me!"
As Viola expected, she did bewilder Dorothy. Why should Viola weep and carry on so? But of course her mother was very delicate and perhaps it might get mixed up so that Viola would be blamed!
As if anything could be more mixed than that story was at present! Dorothy arranging to leave school because she could not find out why her companions had taken a sudden dislike to her, and Viola there telling her why, and yet keeping the real truth as far from her as it had ever been hidden.
"But why should I not tell Mrs. Pangborn about the ride if she asks me?" insisted Dorothy, trying to see what was hidden from her.
"Because, don't you see, those girls may have made foolish remarks, and they will be blamed on me. Just because I was silly enough to believe they could see through a joke. And if you do not tell the story, there can be no further complications. It may be a little hard but, oh, Dorothy! do promise me!" and again Viola grasped both Dorothy's cold hands in hers.
"I certainly would not do anything that would bring trouble on you," reflected Dorothy aloud, "especially if that might worry your poor, sick mother."
"Oh, you darling! I knew you would promise. Now, no matter what Mrs. Pangborn says, promise you will not do more than admit you took the ride – be sure not to say why you took it!"
Dorothy was not suspicious by nature, else she would have seen through the thin veil that hung between Viola and that word "promise." She was using it too frequently for good taste, but she wanted and insisted on getting a real, absolute Promise.
"But it might be rude for me to refuse to tell why we were in the wagon, and at the same time to say we were in it."
"Rude!" echoed Viola. "What small account that would be compared to my dismissal from school."
Dorothy tried to think – just as Viola had planned, she was not able to reason it all out clearly – it was too complicated. The night was getting old, it was ten o'clock and every Glenwood girl was expected to be sleeping honestly, but these two were still far from reaching a satisfactory settlement of their difficulty.
"One thing is certain, Viola," said Dorothy firmly, "I cannot and will not do anything that would seem disrespectful to Mrs. Pangborn. Not only is she a grand, sweet woman, a kind, just teacher, but she was my mother's friend and is still my father's friend. So that it would be impossible for me to do, or say, anything rude to her!"
This was a declaration of principles at last. And Viola for the moment seemed beaten. But girls of her type have more than one loophole in such an emergency.
"I had no idea of asking you to do anything unlady-like," she said with a show of indignation. "It was you who made use of that word. I merely asked that you would, if possible, not make known to Mrs. Pangborn the details of the story. Of course I was foolish to think you would care about their effect upon me, or my dying mother."
Viola rose to leave. Tears were in her eyes and she did look forlorn.
"I will do all I can to save you," Dorothy assured her, "and if I can avoid the story, without being impertinent, I promise to do so."
"Oh, bless you, Dorothy Dale!" exclaimed the now truly miserable girl. "I am sure, then, that it will be all right. When you make a promise you know how to keep it!" and before Dorothy could say another word her visitor was gone.
CHAPTER XIX
THE TANGLED WEB
What happened that night seemed like a dream to Dorothy. Accustomed to think of others and to forget herself, she pondered long and earnestly over the grief that Viola had shown. Surely there was some strange influence between mother and daughter. Dorothy remembered the looks akin to adoration that Mrs. Green continually gave her daughter that day in the train. Viola had certainly done an imprudent thing in telling the story, Dorothy had no idea it was more than imprudent; neither did she know how seriously that act had affected herself. Even now, as she tried to grasp the entire situation, it never occurred to her that this was the story that stood between her and the friendship of the Glenwood girls. For the time that unpleasant affair was almost forgotten – this new problem was enough to wrestle with.
Early the next morning Mrs. Pangborn sent for Dorothy. The president's appearance immediately struck the girl as different; she was in mourning.
"I hope you have not lost a dear friend," said Dorothy, impulsively, before Mrs. Pangborn had addressed her.
"Yes, Dorothy," she replied, "I have – lost my father."
There was no show of emotion, but the girl saw that no grief could be keener.
"I am so sorry," said Dorothy.
"Yes, my dear, I am sure you are. And your father knew him well. They were very old friends."
"I have heard him speak of Mr. Stevens."
"Yes, I suppose you have. Well, his troubles are over, I hope. But, Dorothy, I sent to ask you about that story some of the young ladies have been circulating about you. Of course it is all nonsense – "
"What story have you reference to, Mrs. Pangborn?"
"You must have heard it. That you and Octavia were seen getting out of a police patrol wagon in Dalton. It is absurd, of course."
"But we did ride in a patrol wagon, Mrs. Pangborn," answered Dorothy, trying hard to keep Viola's tearful face before her mind, to guide her in her statements.
"How foolish, child. It might have been a joke – Tell me about it!"
"If you would excuse me, Mrs. Pangborn, and not think me rude, I would rather not," said Dorothy, her cheeks aflame.
"Not tell me!" and the lady raised her eyebrows. "Why, Dorothy! Is there any good reason why you do not wish to tell me?"
"Yes, I have made a promise. It may not be of much account, but, if you will excuse me, it would relieve me greatly not to go over it."
Mrs. Pangborn did not answer at once. For a girl to admit she had ridden in a police van and for that girl to be Dorothy Dale! It seemed incredible.
"Dorothy," she began, gravely, "whatever may be back of this, I am sure you have not been at fault – seriously at least. And since you prefer not to make me your confidant I cannot force you to do so. I am sorry. I had expected something different. The young ladies will scarcely make apologies to you under the circumstances."
She made a motion as if to dismiss Dorothy. Plainly the head of Glenwood School could not be expected to plead with a pupil – certainly not to-day, when her new and poignant grief could not be hidden.
"I shall say to the young ladies," said the teacher, finally, "that they are to show you all the respect they had shown you heretofore. That you have done nothing to be ashamed of – I am sure of this, although you make the matter so mysterious. I would like to have compelled the girl who spread this report to make amends, but I cannot do that. You do not deny her story."
At that moment Dorothy saw, or at least guessed, what it all meant. That had been the story of her trouble! It was that which made the girls turn their backs on her – that which had almost broken her heart. And now she had put it out of her power to contradict their charges!
Mrs. Pangborn had said "good morning," Dorothy was alone in the corridor. She had left the office and could not now turn back!
Oh, why had she been so easily deceived? Why had Viola made her give that promise? Surely it must have been more than that! The story, to cause all the girls to shun her! And perhaps Mrs. Pangborn believed it all! No, she had refused to believe it. But what should Dorothy do now?
Oh, what a wretched girl she was! How much it had cost her to lose Tavia! Tavia would have righted this wrong long ago. But now she stood alone! She could not even speak of leaving the school without strengthening the cruel suspicion, whatever it might be.
What would she do? To whom would she turn?
Heart-sick, and all but ill, Dorothy turned into her lonely little room. She would not attempt to go to classes that morning.
CHAPTER XX
SUSPICIONS
"What did she say?" eagerly asked a knot of girls, as Viola Green made her appearance the morning after her interview with the head of Glenwood school.
"Humph!" sniffed Viola, "what could she say?"
"Did she send for Dorothy?" went on the curious ones.
"I have just seen her step out of the office this minute and she couldn't see me. Her eyes wouldn't let her."
"Then she didn't deny it!" spoke Amy Brook. "I could scarcely make myself believe that of her."
"Ask her about it, then," suggested Viola, to whom the term brazen would seem, at that moment, to be most applicable.
"Oh, excuse me," returned Amy. "I never wound where I can avoid it. The most polite way always turns out the most satisfactory."
"And do you suppose she is going to leave school?" asked Nita Brant, timidly, as if afraid of her own voice in the matter.
"She told me so last night," said Viola, meekly. "I don't blame her."
"No," said a girl with deep blue eyes, and a baby chin, "I do not see how any girl could stand such cuts, and Dorothy seemed such a sweet girl."
"Better go and hug her now," sneered Viola, "I fancy you will find her rolled up in bed, with her red nose, dying for air."
"It is the strangest thing – " demurred Amy.
"Not at all," insisted Viola, "all sweet girls have two sides to their characters. But I am sick of the whole thing. Let's drop it."
"And take up Dorothy again?" eagerly asked Nita.
"Oh, just as you like about that. If you want to associate with girls who ride in police wagons – "
"Well, I do want to!" declared Nita, suddenly. "And I don't believe one word against Dorothy Dale. It must be some mistake. I will ask her about it myself."
"If you wish to spare her you will do nothing of the kind," said Viola. "I tell you it is absolutely true. That she has just this minute admitted it to Mrs. Pangborn. Don't you think if it were a mistake I would have to correct it, when the thing has now been thoroughly investigated?"
It was plain that many of the girls were apt to take Nita's view. They had given the thing a chance to develop, and they were satisfied now that a mistake had been made somewhere. Of course the clever turns made by Viola, kept "the ball rolling."
"There's the bell!" announced Amy, reluctantly leaving the discussion unfinished. This was the signal for laying aside all topics other than those relative to the curriculum of Glenwood, and, as the girls filed into the chapel for prayers, more than one missed Dorothy, her first morning to absent herself from the exercise.
Miss Higley was in charge, Mrs. Pangborn also being out of her accustomed place.
Directly after the short devotions there was whispering.
"Young ladies!" called the teacher, in a voice unusually severe, "you must attend strictly to your work. There has been enough lax discipline in Glenwood recently. I will have no more of it."
"Humph!" sniffed Viola, aside, "since when did she buy the school!"
Miss Higley's eyes were fastened upon her. But Viola's recent experiences had the effect of making her reckless – she felt quite immune to punishment now.
"Attend to your work, Miss Green!" called Miss Higley.
"Attend to your own," answered Viola under her breath, but the teacher saw that she had spoken, and knew that the remark was not a polite one.
"What did you say?" asked the teacher.
"Nothing," retorted Viola, still using a rude tone.
"You certainly answered me, and I insist upon knowing what you said."
Viola was silent now, but her eyes spoke volumes.
"Will you please repeat that remark?" insisted Miss Higley.
"No," said Viola, sharply, "I will not!"
Miss Higley's ruddy face flashed a deep red. To have a pupil openly defy a teacher is beyond the forgiveness of many women less aggressive than Miss Higley.
"You had better leave the room," she said – "take your books with you."
"I won't require them," snapped Viola, intending to give out the impression that she would leave school if she were to be treated in that manner by Miss Higley.
"Get at your work, young ladies," finished the teacher, fastening her eyes on her own books, and thus avoiding anything further with Viola.
To reach her room Viola was obliged to pass Dorothy's. Just as she came up to number nineteen Dorothy opened the door. Her eyes were red from weeping, and she looked very unhappy indeed.
"Oh, do come in Viola," she said, surprised to see the girl before her. "I was going to you directly after class – I did not know you were out."
"I cannot come now," answered Viola. "I must go to my room!"
"Is there anything the matter?" inquired Dorothy, kindly.
"Yes," replied Viola, using her regular tactics, that of forcing Dorothy to make her own conclusions.
"Is your mother worse?"
"I, oh – my head aches so. You must excuse me Dorothy," and at this Viola burst into tears, another ruse that always worked well with the sympathetic Dorothy.
The fact was Dorothy had spent a very miserable hour that morning, after her talk with the president, and she had finally decided to put the whole thing to Viola, to ask her for a straight-forward explanation, and to oblige her to give it. But now Viola was in trouble – Dorothy had no idea that the trouble was a matter of temper, and of course her mother must be worse, thought Dorothy. How glad she was, after all, that she did make the sacrifice! It was much easier for her to stand it than to crush Viola with any more grief!
Crush her indeed! It takes more than the mere words of a just school teacher and more than the pale face of a persecuted girl to crush such a character as that which Viola Green was lately cultivating.
And as Viola turned into her room she determined never to apologize to Miss Higley. She would leave Glenwood first.
Meanwhile what different sentiments were struggling in Dorothy's heart? She had bathed her face, and would go into the classroom. She might be in time for some work, and now there was no use in wasting time over the trouble. She would never mention it to Viola, that poor girl had enough to worry her. Neither would she try to right it in any way. After all, Mrs. Pangborn believed in her, so did Edna and Molly, and a letter from home that morning told of the recovery of Tavia's mother. Perhaps Tavia would be back to school soon. It might be hard to meet the scornful looks of the other girls, but it could not possibly be as hard as what Viola had to bear.
So thought our dear Little Captain, she who was ever ready to take upon her young and frail shoulders the burdens of others.
But such virtue plainly has its own reward – Dorothy Dale entered the classroom at eleven o'clock that morning, with peace in her heart. Viola Green was out of the school room and was fighting the greatest enemies of her life – Pride, mingled with Jealousy.
It had been that from the first, from the very first moment she set her eyes on Dorothy Dale, whose beautiful face was then framed in the ominous black lining of the police patrol.
It had been jealousy ever since. Dorothy had made friends with the best girls in Glenwood, she had been taken up by the teachers, she had been given the best part in the play (but Viola could not stand that) and now that the play had been abandoned on account of the death of Mrs. Panghorn's father, and that Dorothy had been disgraced, what more did Viola crave?
Was not her vengeance complete?
But the girls were beginning to doubt the story, and those who did not actually disbelieve it were tiring of its phases. The promised excitement did not develop. All the plans of the Rebs were dead, and to be a member of that party did not mean happiness, – it meant actual danger of discipline.
Viola was too shrewd not to notice all this, and to realize that her clientele was falling off alarmingly.
Would she really leave Glenwood? The wrong done Dorothy seemed to be righting itself in spite of all her devices, and that girl, disgraced though she stood in the eyes of many, seemed happier at the moment than Viola herself.
"I wish I had gone home when I had father's last letter," reflected the girl, looking in her mirror at the traces of grief that insisted on setting their stamp upon her olive face. "But now, of course that old cat Higley will make a fuss – Oh, I wish I never had seen these cracked walls. I wish I had gone to a fashionable school – "
She stopped suddenly. Why not get away now to that swell school near Boston? She could surely set aside her mother's foolish sentiment about Glenwood, – just because she had met Mrs. Pangborn abroad and had become interested in this particular school for girls.
Viola had enough of it. She would leave – go home. And then perhaps – she might get to the Beaumonde Academy.