The girl was now sitting up; her injured foot rested on a cushioned
chair, while her face still showed signs of suffering.

"Sarah, dear," began Dorothy with an affectionate embrace, "I am so glad
to see you up."

"Are you?" asked the other mechanically.

"Yes, indeed," ignoring her cold manner, "we have been so worried about
you."

"We? Who?" and Sarah toyed nervously with the coverlet that was thrown
over her knees.

"Why all of us; the girls at school. We hope you will soon be able to
come back."

"I will never go back. I have had all I want of Dalton School," and
Sarah tossed her head defiantly.

"Here is a spray of apple blossoms. I brought them from the orchard.
They are so sweet," said Dorothy, "I thought they might make you think
you were out of doors, when you shut your eyes and smell of them."

She offered the spray to Sarah, but the girl made no sign of accepting
it. Dorothy was disappointed. She did not mind the sick girl being
fretful, but she had not expected her to be rude.

A rather awkward silence followed. Dorothy had determined if possible,
to reach the heart of this queer girl, but her best efforts seemed