Betty's Happy Year

But conditions were no better than before. They nodded diffidently to Betty, and then began to chatter to each other with the gay freedom of old acquaintances.

One girl, however, who sat opposite Betty, was also a new pupil. She had coal-black hair and bright black eyes, that darted quickly about, seeming to take in everything.

“You’re new, too, aren’t you?” she said at last, leaning over to seize Betty’s hand.

“Yes,” replied Betty, grateful for the word spoken voluntarily to her.

“So am I. I think the other girls are hateful to ignore us so. But don’t you mind; we’ll show them!”

Though this was independence of spirit, Betty couldn’t quite approve of the way it was expressed, nor of the belligerent wag of the head with which it was emphasized.

But the girl’s attitude was friendly toward her, if rather hostile toward the others, and lonely little Betty yearned for friendliness.

“Well, you see, they all know each other,” she said, smiling at the black-eyed one; “that makes such a difference, and they’ve so much to tell.”

“All right; let us know each other, then. My name’s Madeleine Gorman; what’s yours?”

“Betty McGuire,” said Betty, smiling into the friendly eyes.

“Betty! My, you are new! You must call yourself Elizabeth up here. Nicknames don’t go.”

“Well, I’d just as lief be called Elizabeth; I don’t mind. But I’m Betty at home.”

“Yes; I’m Maddy at home, and Mad, and Mother calls me Lina. But I’m sure Madeleine’s the ticket in a fashionable boarding-school.”

“Then you’ve been here before?”

“No, not here. But to three other grand schools. Mother’s always changing about when she hears of a more ‘select’ one.”

Betty was a bit bewildered. Surely the ambitions of Madeleine’s mother were in line with those of Mrs. Irving, and yet Betty couldn’t imagine her grandmother talking like that! She felt sure the Irvings were “select,” but she felt equally sure they would never proclaim it in words.

She gave up the problem as too difficult, but, greatly cheered by Madeleine’s cordiality, she met her friendly advances half-way, and when they reached the school they felt really well acquainted. Together they went to the principal.

Miss Frelinghuysen was an imposing-looking lady with sharp features and sharp eyes. She welcomed them with effusion, called each “my dear child,” and expressed hope that each would be happy and contented at the school.

“May we room together, Elizabeth and I?” Madeleine asked.

Miss Frelinghuysen appeared to hesitate.

“Do you wish it, my dear?” she asked of Betty.

“Yes,” replied Betty, hastily, concluding that a girl she knew to be friendly was preferable to any utter stranger; “yes, I should like it.”

“Very well, then you may, my dear.”

“You’re a trump,” said Madeleine, squeezing Betty’s arm as they went away; “I was so afraid you wouldn’t room with me.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You might feel too grand. You’ve just come into a lot of money, they tell me.”

“But that doesn’t make any difference to young girls,” said Betty, simply.

“Ho! doesn’t it?” said Madeleine, at which Betty laughed outright. She felt sure it couldn’t be true.

Hillside Manor was a large and rather magnificent house, yet when Betty and Madeleine reached their room, they found it small and cramped. There was only one window, and though the two beds were narrow, they left but little space to move about. There was only one wash-stand, and, accustomed of late to having nice things about her, Betty looked around in dismay.

It was not that she so much minded not having elaborate furnishings, but such close quarters to be shared with another made her feel hampered, and she thought longingly of her lovely big room at Denniston, with the dainty fittings all her own.

And yet she knew she would not like to room alone at the school. That was an awful loneliness to look forward to.

So she began unpacking her things to dress for dinner. Madeleine chattered all the time, seeming not to care whether Betty answered or not.

“You may have the top drawer of the dresser, and I’ll take the next,” said Madeleine, good-naturedly; “and we’ll divide the hooks in the wardrobe evenly. Which bed do you want?”

“I don’t care,” said Betty; “take your choice first.”

“All right; I’ll take this one,” and Madeleine flung two large hats on the bed she selected.

But as she immediately afterward piled a lot of her things on the other bed, it seemed to make little difference.

“Don’t mind those clothes,” she said apologetically. “Pile your own right on top of ’em. We’ll get ’em put away somehow.”

But there was no time then, as they must dress for dinner, and the gong would sound shortly.

Madeleine greatly admired Betty’s pretty rose-colored voile trimmed with delicate lace, and she was loud in her praise of Betty’s simple bits of jewelry.

“Oh, what a lovely locket!” she cried. “Let me wear it to-night, won’t you? I’d love to!”

Betty hesitated; she disliked to refuse her friend’s first request, but she couldn’t let any one else wear her locket, with her mother’s picture in it, too.

“I want to wear that myself,” she said frankly; “I always wear it afternoons. But you may wear my bangle instead, if you like.”

“Oh, yes, I’d love to,” and Madeleine slipped the pretty gold bangle on her wrist. “Won’t you lend me a hair-ribbon, Elizabeth, too? I see you’ve plenty of them, and mine are so old.”

“Certainly,” said Betty, willingly offering her box of new ribbons. Madeleine selected a pair of wide red ones, and gaily tied them on her black curls. As it happened, these were Betty’s favorite ribbons, and she had no other red ones, but she was wearing white ones herself, and she said nothing.

Madeleine helped herself to Betty’s cologne-water, and made free with several of her toilet appurtenances, and at last, after saying, “Oh, my dear, please lend me a handkerchief; mine are full of holes!” they went down-stairs.

Dinner was an awful ordeal. The girls sat at long tables, each headed by a teacher, and were expected to converse on light topics. Betty rather envied the ease with which most of them uttered trivial commonplaces, but she couldn’t help feeling that their accents and shrill little notes of laughter were artificial. Without even formulating her own thoughts, she felt that the girls were all self-conscious and critical of one another, and she conceived a sudden and violent antipathy to the whole atmosphere of the school that she knew she could never conquer.

Entirely unconscious of herself, Betty did not realize that she was not taking any part in the “light” conversation, and it was a shock when Miss Price said, in a somewhat mincing tone: “We want you to join in our chat, Miss McGuire. Suppose you tell us how you spent your Christmas day.” Straightforwardly Betty said:

“We spent our Christmas day in New York, at the Plaza Hotel.”

No sooner had she said this than she saw, by the expressions on the girls’ faces, she had made a mistake.

“How interesting!” said Miss Price; but it suddenly flashed on Betty that they all thought her remark ostentatious, and that it was, in some way, inexcusable to spend Christmas day away from one’s home.