"I think I understand you, Dorothy," said Mrs. Freeman. "Kiss me!"
All that could possibly happen would be a little fright for Evelyn, and a larger measure of disgrace for Bridget. And why should Janet interfere? Why should she tell tales of her schoolfellows? Her story would be misinterpreted by that faction of the girls who already had made Bridget their idol.
Olive had no inclination to join them. They had taken no notice of her, and she was not sufficiently fascinated by Bridget to run any risk for her sake. She knew that her present proceedings were wrong, but she was not at all brave enough to raise her voice in protest. She walked slowly back to the house, wondering whether she should go and tell Janet, or sink down lazily on a cozy seat and go on with a story book which was sticking out of her pocket."Go on; tell us quickly what you did with the candle, Biddy!" cried little Violet, pulling her new friend by the arm.She looked at the merry group on the lawn, and a desire to join them, even though of course she knew she was in no sense one of them, came over her.
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"Well, I'm here," she said; "what is it?" She still used that half-mocking, indifferent voice.A slight additional color came into Miss Percival's cheeks."Don't do that, Bridget," said Miss Patience; "you are disturbing me."
"Bridget, do look," said Mrs. Freeman; "you have trodden on that lovely bud!"What would the new girl be like? Was she rich or poor, handsome or ugly, tall or short, dark or fair? Why did she come in the middle of the term, and why did Mrs. Freeman, and Miss Delicia, and Miss Patience make such a fuss about her?"Janet, I wish you would not speak in that bitter way."
Miss Patience had a thin voice, and her words fell like tiny drops of ice on the girl's excited hearts. They followed their teachers with a certain sense of flatness, and with very little desire to attend to French verbs and German exercises.