afterwards I don't know, and don't care
to inquire. But, Betty, the fact is that you, instead of being an
inspiring influence in this school, will undermine it--will ruin its
morals. You are a dangerous girl, Betty Vivian; and I tell you so to
your face. You are bound--bound to come to grief. Now, I will say no
more. I leave it to your conscience what to do and what not to do. There
are some fine points about you; and you could be magnificent, but you
are not. There, I have spoken!"

"Thank you, Fanny," replied Betty in a very gentle tone. She waited for
a full minute; then she said, "Is that all?"

"Yes, that is all."

Betty went away to her own room. As soon as ever she entered, she went
straight to the looking-glass and gazed at her reflection. She then
turned a succession of somersaults from one end of the big apartment to
the other. Having done this, she washed her face and hands in ice-cold
water, rubbed her cheeks until they glowed, brushed her black hair, and
felt better. She ran downstairs, and a few minutes later was in the
midst of a very hilarious group, who were all chatting and laughing and
hailing Betty Vivian as the best comrade in the wide world.

Betty was not only brilliant socially; at the same time she had fine
intellectual powers. She was the delight of her teachers, for she could
imbibe knowledge as a sponge absorbs water. On this particular day she
was at her best during a very difficult lesson at the piano from a
professor who came from London. Betty had always a passionate love of
music, and to-day she revelled in it. She had been learning one of
Chopin's Nocturnes, and now rendered it with exquisite pathos. The
professor was delighted, and in the midst of the performance Mrs. Haddo
came into the music-room. She listened with approval, and when the girl
rose, said, "Well done!"

Another girl took her place; and Betty, running up to Mrs. Haddo, said,
"Oh, may I speak to you?"

"Yes, dear; what is it? Come to my room for a minute, if you wish,
Betty."

"It isn't important enough for that. Dear Mrs. Haddo, it's just that I
am mad for a bit of frolic."

"Frolic, my child! You seem to have plenty."

"Not enough--not enough--not nearly enough for a wild girl of
Aberdeenshire, a girl who has lived on the moors and loved them."

"What do you want, dear child?"

"I want most awfully, with your permission, to go with my two sisters
Sylvia and Hester to have tea with the Mileses. I want to