Molly Brown's Freshman Days Part 30

Molly looked at Mary and a very tender expression came into her heavenly blue eyes.

"Was the difference about me?" she asked presently.

Mary hesitated.

"Yes, Molly; since you force me to tell you, it was."

"She has been saying some horrid things? Of course, I knew she would. I was prepared for that. And I could tell----" Molly paused. "No, no, I mustn't!" she exclaimed hastily.

"What could you tell, Molly?"

"Don't ask me. I would never speak to myself again, if I did tell. She has been saying that I never lost the ring, that I was poor and needed the money, and things like that. Tell me honestly, isn't that the truth?"

Mary nodded her head and frowned. There was a silence, and presently Mary's strong, brown fingers closed over Molly's slender ones.

"Molly," she began in a business-like tone of voice, "I'm almost glad that this subject has come up because I came here really to----" she broke off. "It's very hard," she began again. "I hardly know how to put it. You knew, Molly, dear, that I was rich, didn't you?"

"Why, yes; I guessed you must be, although you have been careful not to mention it yourself. You're the most high-bred, finest girl I ever knew, Mary," she added impetuously.

Mary laughed.

"That's nice of you to say such things, dear, because I haven't but one ancestor on my paternal side and that's father, but he's generations in himself, he's so splendid. But to go on, Molly, dear, I am rich, not ordinarily rich, but enormously, vastly rich. It's absurd, really, because we'll never spend it, and we don't care a rap about saving it; but whatever father touches just turns to gold."

"I wish he'd touch something for me," laughed Molly, wistfully.

"Now, listen to me, dear, and don't interrupt. Father adores me to that extent that I could spend any amount of money and he would just smile and say: 'Go ahead, little Mary, go as far as you like.' But, you see, I only want a few very nice things, consequently, I can't be extravagant to save my life."

Molly laughed aloud at this nave confession.

"The point I'm coming to is this, Molly: Judith Blount is being exceedingly horrid over that ring. I believe myself it will be found eventually. But until it is found, I want you--now don't interrupt me and don't carry on, please--I want you to ask her the value of her old ring and give her the money for it. If she chooses to be ill-bred, she must be treated with ill-bred methods."

"But, dearest Mary, I can't----" began Molly.

"Yes, you can. I haven't known you but a few months, Molly, but I've learned to love you in that time. And when I really care for any one, which is seldom, she becomes a sister to me. You are my little sister, and shall always be. I shall never change. And between sisters there must be no foolish pride. Now, Molly, I want to settle this thing with Judith Blount once and for all, through you, of course. She is not to know I had anything to do with it. You must tell her that you have raised the money and would like to pay her the full value of the ring.

When the ring is found, she can give you back the money. That will stop her wicked, wagging tongue, at least."

Molly tried hard not to cry, but the tears welled up in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She took Mary's hand and kissed it.

"I wish I could kiss you, dearest Mary," she sobbed; "but you see, I've got such a bad cold."

How could she thank Mary for her generous offer or explain that her family would never allow her to accept the money, even if she felt she could herself?

"You are the finest, n.o.blest, most generous girl," she went on brokenly.

"No, I'm not," said Mary. "It's easy to do things for people we love and easier still when we have the money to do it with. If I hadn't been so fond of you, Molly, and had been obliged to deny myself besides, that would have been generosity. This is only a pleasure. A sort of self-gratification, because I've adopted you, you see, as my little sister."

Molly lay quietly for a while with her cheek pressed against Mary's hand.

"Are you thinking it over?" asked Mary at last, patting her cheek.

"I'm thinking how happy I am," answered Molly.

"As soon as you are well, then," went on Mary, rising to go, "you must have an interview with Judith and settle the whole thing."

Molly smiled up at her friend and squeezed her hand.

There are times when two friends need not speak to express what they think.

"Even if I never win the three golden apples," she reflected after Mary had gone, "I have won three friends that are as true as gold."

CHAPTER XX.

MISS STEEL.

With the wonderful powers of recuperation which natures like Molly's have, on Sunday morning she was up and dressed, almost dancing about her room in the infirmary, long before it was time for Dr. McLean to call and grant her permission to leave.

It was good to be up and well again; it was good to be at college, for she had been homesick for Wellington since she had been shut up in the hospital, and better still, it was good to have friends, such friends as she had.

As for the emerald ring--a shadow darkened her face. The thought of the emerald ring would push its way into her mind.

"I believe it will come out all right," she said to herself. "I believe it--I believe it! I couldn't help losing it, and if it isn't found, I can't help that, either. I just won't be miserable, that's all. I feel too happy and too well."

"Are you at home to visitors this morning, Miss Brown?" asked a sharp unmusical voice at the door.

"Oh, yes; do come in," answered Molly, rising to meet Miss Steel, who had walked up the uncarpeted steps and along the echoing corridor without making a sound, as usual.

Molly's manners were unfailingly cordial to visitors, and when she shook hands with Miss Steel and insisted on making her take the armchair, that flint-like person visibly softened a little and faintly smiled. Molly wondered why the sanitary inspector had called on her, but she appreciated attentions from anybody and was as grateful for being popular as if it were something entirely new and strange to her.

She showed Miss Steel her flowers and pinned a lovely pink rose on the inspector's granite-colored cloth coat. She made light of her illness, and rejoiced that she was returning in a few hours to dear old Queen's.

She was, in fact, so wonderfully sweet and charming that Sunday morning that it must have been very difficult even for the stony inspector to touch on the real business of her visit.

At last, however, Miss Steel buckled on her armor of decision, averted her eyes for a moment from Molly's glowing face and plunged in.

"I don't suppose, Miss Brown, you suspected my t.i.tle of 'Dormitory Inspector' here was merely a nominal one, and that I had another motive in being at Wellington College?"

Molly hardly liked to tell her that they had long considered her a spy and detested her for that reason. She said nothing, therefore, and sat in her favorite position when listening intently with her hands clasping one knee and her shoulders drooping; a very wrong position indeed, considering that it would eventually make her round-shouldered and hollow chested; but Molly was never more graceful or comfortable than when she adopted this unhealthful att.i.tude.

"I am an inspector," went on the other, "but I am an inspector of police, that is, a detective. Doubtless you have heard of certain mysterious things that have happened at Wellington this autumn; the attempt to burn the gymnasium, which we now believe was only a practical joke to frighten the soph.o.m.ore cla.s.s; the cutting of the electric wires one night, and there are a few other things you have not heard; for instance, Miss Walker has received lately several anonymous letters--two of them about you----"

Molly started.

"About me?" she exclaimed.

"Yes," said Miss Steel, watching her closely. "But they were not disagreeable letters, strange to say, since anonymous letters usually are. They expressed the most ardent admiration for you. They mentioned that you had enemies who were trying to ruin your reputation."