looked after Betty. They were both interested, much interested, the one in
the other, and for reasons that neither suspected. Ida Bellethorne was not
much like the girls Betty knew. She seemed even more sedate than the
seniors at Shadyside where Betty had attended school with the Littell
girls since the term had opened in September.

Ida Bellethorne was not, however, in any such happy condition as the girls
Betty Gordon knew. She might have told the warm-hearted customer who had
bought the over-blouse a story that would indeed have spurred Betty's
interest to an even greater degree. But the English girl was naturally of
a secretive disposition, and she was among strangers.

She turned back into the store when Betty had gone and the door, swinging
shut, set the bell above it jingling again. A door opened at the end of
the room and a tall, aggressive woman in a long, straight, gingham frock
strode into the room. She had very black, heavy brows that met over her
nose and this, with the thick spectacles she wore, gave her a very stern
expression.

"What's the matter with that bell, Ida?" she demanded, in a sharp voice.
"It seems to ring enough, but it doesn't ring any money into my
cash-drawer as I can see."

"I sold my over-blouse out of the window, Mrs. Staples," said the girl.

"Humph! What else?"

"Er--what else? Why--why, she said she might come back for the one I am
making."