y, or if it was that they didn't _quite_ understand
you."

Oh, there was nothing to fear about being sent home, but the fact that
thus she would lose a deal of fun that she could so enjoy with a lot of
lively girls of her own age.

She resolved to appear as off-hand as usual, unless Mrs. Marvin should
say that she must not remain at Glenmore, when she would throw pride to
the winds, and plead, yes, even beg to continue as a pupil of the
school. She turned and looked at Elf, still soundly sleeping.

"O dear! I'm the only girl in school who has anything to fret over," she
whispered.

It happened, however, that at the far end of the building, another girl
was quite as worried as Vera, but it was a very different matter that
had caused her to wake, as Vera had, before daybreak.

She had entered Glenmore a few weeks after school had opened, and was
rather a quiet girl, as yet acquainted with but few of the pupils.

Some one circulated the story that she was being educated by an uncle
who was a very rich man. Patricia Levine had added that as he lived in
"N'York," and as her mother also lived there, she, of course, knew him,
and she had told Patricia that old Mr. Mayo was more than rich, that he
was many, many times a millionaire.

"Ida Mayo is to be an heiress, and have all that money. Just think of
that!" Patricia had said, and immediately began to be very friendly with
her.

Betty Chase boldly asked Patricia why it followed that because Mrs.
Levine and old Mr. Mayo lived in New York they must, of course, be
acquainted, to which Patricia snapped.

"I didn't say they _must_ be acquainted. I said 'they _are_'!"

Ida Mayo seemed not to notice that Patricia sought to be friendly, nor
did she make any effort to become acquainted with any of the other
pupils.

She seemed content to stand apart and watch the others in their games.
It was Dorothy Dainty who seemed to hold her attention, and once Betty
Chase asked boldly: "I wonder why you watch Dorothy so much."

"I don't know," Ida had said, then added, "I guess it's because she's
worth looking at?"

Secretly she envied Dorothy's lovely color, and wished that her own
cheeks were as fresh and fair. That evening in her little room, she
looked in disgust at her reflection in the mirror. A pale face returned
her gaze, and she made a grimace.

"It's bad enough to be pale without having a few of last summer's
freckles left to make it worse," she cried.

There were le