Absorbed in her book, Ethelinda read on until the signal sounded for lights out.  Never before accustomed to such restrictions, she looked up impatiently.  She had forgotten where she was for the moment in the interest of her book.  When her glance fell on the umbrella, spread over Mary’s bed like a tent, she raised herself on her elbow with a look of astonishment.  It took her some time to understand why it had been put there.

Never having roomed with any one before, and never having had to consider any one’s convenience besides her own, it had not occurred to her that she might be making Mary uncomfortable.  The mute umbrella called attention to the fact more eloquently than any protest could have done.  Ethelinda had endured having a room-mate as she endured all the other disagreeable requirements of the school.  Now for the first time it dawned upon her that there might be two sides to this story, also that this strange girl who seemed so eager to intrude herself on her notice might be worth knowing after all.  If Mary could have seen her bewildered stare and then the amused expression which twitched her mouth for an instant, she would have had hopes that the thawing out process had begun.

CHAPTER IV

“AYE, THERE’S THE RUB!”

True to the course she had laid out for herself, Mary was as dumb next morning as if she had really lost the power of speech.  Judging from her manner one would have thought that she was alone in the room, and that she was having a beautiful time all by herself.  She was waiting for Ethelinda to make the advances this time, and as she did not see fit even to say good-morning, the dressing proceeded in a silence so profound that it could almost be felt.

There was a broad smile on Mary’s face most of the time.  She was ready to laugh outright over the absurd situation, and from time to time she cast an amused glance at Lloyd’s picture, as if her amusement were understood and shared.  It was wonderful how that life-like picture seemed to bring Lloyd before her and give her a delightful sense of companionship, and she fell into the way of “thinking to it,” as she expressed it.  The things she would have said aloud had Lloyd been with her, she said mentally, finding a satisfaction in this silent communion that a less imaginative person could not have experienced.

“I wish you could go down to breakfast with me, Princess,” she thought, turning for a last glance when she was dressed, and pausing with her hand on the door-knob.  “I dread to go down alone before all those strangers.”

Dinner, the night before, had been a very stately affair, with Madam at the head of the table in the long banquet hall, and Hawkins in solemn charge of his corps of waiters.  But breakfasts were to be delightfully informal, Mary found a few minutes later, when she paused at the dining room door and saw many small round tables, each cozily set for six:  five pupils and a teacher.  Betty, presiding at one, looked up and beckoned to her.