Her first impulse was to run to Betty for comfort.  It would be easy enough to borrow the money she needed from her, and pay her back after the holidays, but—­a sober second thought stopped her.  Probably the girls wouldn’t want her candy then.  Each of the boxes had been ordered as a special Christmas offering for some relative with a well-known sweet tooth.  And Mary had a horror of debt, that was part of her heritage from her grandfather Ware.  It was his frequent remark that “who goes a-borrowing goes a-sorrowing,” and it lay heavy on the conscience of every descendant of his who stepped aside even for a moment from the path of his teachings.  She felt that it would be dishonest to send Jack a present that wasn’t fully paid for, and yet the disappointment of not being able to send it was so deep, that she could not keep the tears back.  They splashed down like rain into the kettle as she scraped away at the scorched places on the bottom.

It was a long time before she went back to her room.  Ethelinda looked up curiously.

“Where’s your candy?” she asked.

“Spoiled.  It scorched and I had to throw it out.”  Her face was turned away, under pretence of searching for a book, but her voice was subdued and not altogether steady.

“Too bad,” was the indifferent answer, and Ethelinda went on with her lesson, but presently a faint sniff made her glance up to see that Mary was not studying, only staring at her book with big tears dropping quietly on the page.  In all the weeks they had been together she had never seen Mary in this mood before, and it seemed as strange that she should be crying as that rain should drop from a cloudless sky.

The sight of Mary in trouble awakened a feeling that seldom came to the surface in Ethelinda.  She felt moved to pick her up and comfort her and put her out of harm’s way as she would have done to a helpless little kitten.  But she did not know how to begin.  Naturally undemonstrative, any expression of sympathy was hard for her to make.  They had grown into very friendly relations this last month.  Warwick Hall had widened Ethelinda’s horizon, until she was able to take an interest in many things now outside of her own narrow self-centred circle.

As they started to undress she managed to ask, “Well, have you sent for that watch-fob yet?”

Mary shook her head, trying hard to swallow a sob, as she bent over an open bureau drawer.  “I’ve decided not to order it.”

Then Ethelinda, putting two and two together, guessed the reason.  If Mary could have known how long she lay awake that night, devising some scheme to help her out of her difficulty, she would not have been so surprised next morning when a hesitating voice spoke up from the opposite bed, just after the rising bell.

“Mary, will you promise not to get mad and throw things at me if I ask you something?” She went on hurriedly, for they both recalled a scene when such a thing had happened.  She felt she had blundered by alluding to it.