Dorothy and Rose-Mary followed Miette, leaving the others in consternation.

“How dare you do such a thing, Nita Brandt?” exclaimed Tavia, as masks and gowns were immediately discarded.

“Do what?” asked Nita, her face blazing, and her voice trembling.

“Pry into that girl’s affairs. You were told as well as the rest of us that we were to be most careful of her feelings. She does not understand American boarding schools,” said Tavia, with a sarcastic emphasis on the “boarding schools.”

“Is she any better than the rest of us?” fired back Nita.

“Better than some of us, surely,” fought Tavia.

“If you mean that for me, Miss Octavia Travers,” flamed up Nita, “I shall demand an apology. My family record cannot be questioned.”

“I said nothing about your family, I was talking about you. And if you demand an apology, I guess you’ll have to take it out in demanding.”

“We shall see about that. Miss Bylow will be able to settle this.”

“Miss Bylow, indeed! Since when did she become head of Glenwood? Oh, I see. You have taken her into your confidence. Perhaps you have—exactly! I see it as clearly as if I had been there. Miette lost a note and you gave it to Miss Bylow!”

At this direct accusation Nita turned scarlet.

A chorus of “Ohs!” went up from the others.

“You didn’t really do that?” asked Edna Black.

“This is not an investigating committee,” Nita found words to say. “And I can’t see that what I may do is any of your business,” and at this she, too, fled from the room.

Meanwhile Dorothy and Rose-Mary were doing their best to console Miette, who lay on her bed weeping bitterly.

“But I was not to tell any one,” she wailed, “and I should not have written to Marie. But Marie was so good, and I thought she ought to know. But now—oh, you cannot understand!” and she wept again, bewailing the lost note.

“I am sure,” insisted Dorothy, “It cannot do so much harm as you think, Miette. I will see Mrs. Pangborn myself—”

“Oh, please do not do that. Mrs. Pangborn was not to know,” sobbed the girl on the bed.

Neither Dorothy nor her chum knew what to say now. It was all very mysterious, and Dorothy wished ardently she had taken her friend’s advice and not gone in for the initiation.

But it was too late for regrets—it was time for action.

“Could you tell me in what way I could help you?” asked Dorothy, very gently.

“I can see no way. And, oh, I was so happy until that awful girl—Yes, it was she who did it all! She hates me! But why? What have I done?” and the little French girl continued to cry.

“Now, I’m going to get you a cup of chocolate,” said practical Rose-Mary, “and when you feel stronger you will see things in a different light.”

Then Dorothy was left alone with Miette. The girl pulled herself together and sat up.

“I would so like to tell you,” she began, “but I have been forbidden. Oh, if my own dear mother had not left me—” she sobbed, but tried bravely to restrain her tears. “You see, it is nothing so very wrong, only they—oh, I cannot tell you. I must do the best I can, and if I have to go away—then I must go!”

“But you have done nothing wrong?” ventured Dorothy. “Why should you have to go away?”

“That is what I cannot tell you,” sighed Miette, and then Cologne entered with the tray and chocolate.

“Now, doesn’t this smell good?” she asked, putting the tray on Miette’s stand. “I’m just choked myself. I always hate initiation night. I just think we ought to stop them. Seems to me girls have queer ideas of fun lately,” declared Cologne.

It was only ten minutes until bed time, so the chocolate had to be partaken of hurriedly.

“It does taste splendid,” approved Dorothy, as she sipped the steaming beverage.

“I like it very much. You are so kind,” said Miette, as tears still welled into her dark eyes.

“Glad you think I can make chocolate,” answered Rose-Mary. “Ned and Tavia declare I’m too stingy with the stuff, and that I only let the pot look at the sugar. That’s why I took the trouble to bring along some squares. I usually keep that kind of sweetness for company.”

It was safe to guess that few of the Glenwood girls got to sleep on time that night. There had been too much excitement at the initiation to calm down immediately, besides, there was a prospect of more trouble—and even trouble is not always unwelcome to boarding school girls—those who are not actually concerned, of course.

The commotion continued during the day following. Miette did not appear in the classroom, and there was much speculation as to just what had happened after she left the Assembly Room.

Some of the girls refused to speak to Nita, while others were equally disagreeable with Tavia. Dorothy and Rose-Mary kept their own counsel, but a few of the girls did see Dorothy coming out of Mrs. Pangborn’s office.

Certainly something had happened, or would happen, shortly, was the prevailing opinion.

But while the pupils were all eagerness for developments the teachers were weighing matters carefully. Mrs. Pangborn was a prudent woman, and was never known to have to rescind an official action.

“But we must manage it,” she had told Dorothy in the morning interview. “Of course it might have been better if you had acquainted me with the fact that this antagonism had been shown, but I cannot blame you for refraining from seeming unnecessary ‘tattling.’ However, I am very glad you have come to me now. You must assure Miette that no harm has been done, and I am sure I can adjust the matter for her. I think it best I should not talk to her myself at present, as she might feel called upon to give me the information she is so desirous of keeping secret.”

Dorothy was greatly relieved that Mrs. Pangborn did not blame her, and after the talk she felt that perhaps, as Mrs. Pangborn said, it would be all satisfactorily settled for Miette.

But Miette continued to worry, and it was two days before she could be induced to leave her room and go back to school work.

Dorothy was accustomed to helping those in difficulties. Her father, the major, used to call her his little Captain, and even as a child she went naturally to those who were in distress, and in a child’s confident way, often brought comfort where those of experience failed to give solace. This habit was the result of her early training, as well as the consequence of a loving heart. Now Dorothy, as a young girl, found the talent she had so successfully developed most useful, and with the power she was well equipped, not only to carry her own difficulties to some satisfactory termination, but to see deep down into the heart of those unable to cope with their own trials, weaker in character than Dorothy, and consequently more easily discouraged.

In little Miette, however, she found a strange problem. The child seemed willing enough to confide her story to Dorothy, but was withheld from doing so by some unknown reason. And not knowing the real circumstances, Dorothy could do as little “in the dark” as a lawyer might be expected to do when a client refuses confidence.

But in spite of this Dorothy felt that it was Miette who needed her now, and Miette whom she must assist in some way, although the mystery surrounding the little stranger seemed as deep to-day as it was the day she entered Glenwood.

The note that Nita Brandt picked up from the floor in the class room and gave to Miss Bylow was in the hands of Mrs. Pangborn, but that lady had not thought of such a thing as reading the child’s scrawl. She knew it was intended for some friend of Miette and no matter what the contents might be she could see no necessity of reading it, as the note was not to be sent away.

The transgression of which Miette was accused was that of having written this note after, and directly after, Miss Bylow had announced that no notes were to be written in the class room. Mrs. Pangborn had intended calling Miette to her office and charging her with this complaint, made by Miss Bylow, when the unhappy ending to the pranks on initiation night almost threw the child into nervous prostration. This postponed the investigation.

So, as the matter rested only Nita Brandt, and perhaps Miss Bylow, knew the contents of the disastrous note. If Dorothy only could know it she felt she would be able to do something to “mend matters.” But how was she to find out? She could not ask Nita Brandt, neither could she think of asking Miss Bylow.

So Dorothy turned the matter over and over in her busy brain. Finally she made a resolve: she would ask Miette.