With her knees trembling under her till she could scarcely move, Mary ran out of the room, so frightened by what she had done that she did not venture back till bedtime.  Ethelinda refused to speak to her for several days, but the outburst of temper had two good results.  One was that there was no need for its repetition, and Ethelinda treated her with more respect from then on.

It had come to her with a shock, that Mary was looking down on her, Ethelinda Hurst, pitying her for some things and despising her for others; and though she shrugged her shoulders at first and was angry at the thought, she found herself many a time trying to measure up to Mary’s standards.  She couldn’t bear for those keen gray eyes to look her through, as if they were weighing her in the balance and finding her wanting.

CHAPTER V

A FAD AND A CHRISTMAS FUND

For a Freshman to start a fad popular enough to spread through the entire school was an unheard of thing at Warwick Hall, but A.O.  Miggs had that distinction early in the term.  Her birthday was in October, and when she appeared that morning with a zodiac ring on her little finger, set with a brilliant fire opal, there was a mingled outcry of admiration and horror.

“Oh, I wouldn’t wear an opal for worlds!” cried one superstitious girl.  “They’re dreadfully unlucky.”

“Not if it is your birthstone,” announced A.O., calmly turning her hand to watch the flashing of red and blue lights in the heart of the gem.  “It’s bad luck not to wear one if you were born in October.  It says on the card that came in the box with this: 

     “’October’s child is born for woe
       And life’s vicissitudes must know,
       Unless she wears the opal’s charm
       To ward off every care and harm.’

“And they say too that you are beloved of the gods and men as long as you keep your faith in it.”

“Then I’ll certainly have to get one,” laughed Jane Ridgeway, who had joined the group, “for I am October’s child.  Let me see it, A.O.”

She adjusted her glasses and took the plump little hand in hers for inspection.  “I always have thought that opals are the prettiest of all the stones.  Write the verse out for me, A.O., that’s a good child.  I’ll send it home for the family to see how important it is that I should be protected by such a charm.”

This from a senior, the dignified and exclusive Miss Ridgeway, put the seal of approval on the fashion, and when, a week later, she appeared with a beautiful Hungarian opal surrounded by tiny diamonds, with her zodiac signs engraved on the wide circle of gold, every girl in school wanted a birth-month ring.

Elise wrote home asking if agates were expensive, and if she might have one.  Not that she thought they were pretty, but it was the stone for June, so of course she ought to wear one.  The answer came in the shape of an old heirloom, a Scotch agate that had been handed down in the family, almost since the days of Malcolm the Second.  It had been a small brooch, worn on the bosom of many a proud MacIntyre dame, but never had it evoked such interest as when, set in a ring, it was displayed on Elise’s little finger.