ther. 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 l