“Go on in, Betty,” said the physical culture teacher, who labored under no delusions about the duties of a peacemaker.  To tell the truth, she did not believe in forced reconciliation.  “Ada will come with me.”

“Ada has something I want,” said Betty stubbornly.  “She has to promise to give it to me first.”

Ada looked at the resolute little figure facing her.  Betty, she knew, was capable of doing exactly what she had said.  Mrs. Eustice had no more rigid rule than the one against going to town, day or night, without permission.  Ada gave in.

“I’ll leave it in your room before dinner—­you didn’t think I carried it with me, did you?” she snapped.

“Both?” said Betty significantly, meaning the note and the money.

“Everything!” cried the exasperated Ada, on the verge of angry tears.

“Then you have my promise never to say a word,” Betty assured her blithely.

“Do you want this bottle?” Miss Anderson called after her, as she started for the school.

Miss Anderson had been studying both girls as she waited quietly.

Now Betty turned, smiled radiantly, and took the bottle the teacher held out to her.  With careful aim, worthy of Bob’s training, she fixed her eye on a handy rock, hurled the bottle with all her strength, and had the satisfaction of seeing it dashed into a thousand fragments as it struck the target squarely.

Then she trotted sedately on to her delayed recitation, and Miss Anderson and the scowling Ada followed more slowly.

Just before dinner that night there came a knock on Betty’s door, and Virgie Smith, one of Ada’s friends, thrust a package at Bobby, who had answered the tap.

Betty managed to turn aside her chum’s curiosity and to get away to Libbie and give her the note.  They burned it in the flame of a candle, and counted the money.  It was all there, folded just as Libbie had placed it in the bottle.  Evidently Ada had never carried it.

Libbie paid Louise the money she had borrowed of her and gave Betty the amount she owed her, most of which was Bob’s.

“Now do try to be more sensible, Libbie,” pleaded Betty, turning to go back to Bobby.  “When you want to do something romantic think twice and count a hundred.”

“I will!” promised Libbie fervently.  “I’ll never be so silly again, Betty.”

But dear me, she was, a hundred times!  But in a different way each time.  Libbie would be Libbie to the end of the chapter.

Betty, rushing back to brush her hair for dinner, heard a sound suspiciously like a sob as she passed Norma Guerin’s door.  It was unlatched, and as no one answered when she tapped Betty gently pushed it open and stepped into the room.

Norma lay on her bed crying as though her heart would break, and Alice, looking very forlorn and solemn, was holding a letter in her hand.

CHAPTER XX