Though this was independence of spirit, Betty couldn’t quite approve of the way it was expressed, nor of the belligerent wag of the head with which it was emphasized. But the girl’s attitude was friendly toward her, if rather hostile toward the others, and lonely little Betty yearned for friendliness. “Well, you see, they all know each other,” she said, smiling at the black-eyed one; “that makes such a difference, and they’ve so much to tell.” “All right; let us know each other, then. My name’s Madeleine Gorman; what’s yours?” “Betty McGuire,” said Betty, smiling into the friendly eyes. “Betty! My, you are new! You must call yourself Elizabeth up here. Nicknames don’t go.” “Well, I’d just as lief be called Elizabeth; I don’t mind. But I’m Betty at home.” “Yes; I’m Maddy at home, and Mad, and Mother calls me Lina. But I’m sure Madeleine’s the ticket in a fashionable boarding-school.” “Then you’ve been here before?” “No, not here. But to three other grand schools. Mother’s always changing about when she hears of a more ‘select’ one.” Betty was a bit bewildered. Surely the ambitions of Madeleine’s mother were in line with those of Mrs. Irving, and yet Betty couldn’t imagine her grandmother talking like that! She felt sure the Irvings _were_ “select,” but she felt equally sure they would never proclaim it in words. She gave up the problem as too difficult, but, greatly cheered by Madeleine’s cordiality, she met her friendly advances half-way, and when they reached the school they felt really well acquainted. Together they went to the principal. Miss Frelinghuysen was an imposing-looking lady with sharp features and sharp eyes. She welcomed them with effusion, called each “my dear child,” and expressed hope that each would be happy and contented at the school. “May we room together, Elizabeth and I?” Madeleine asked. Miss Frelinghuysen appeared to hesitate. “Do you wish it, my dear?” she asked of Betty. “Yes,” replied Betty, hastily, concluding that a girl she knew to be friendly was preferable to any utter stranger; “yes, I should like it.” “Very well, then you may, my dear.” “You’re a trump,” said Madeleine, squeezing Betty’s arm as they went away; “I was so afraid you wouldn’t room with me.” “Why not?” “Oh, I don’t know. You might feel too grand. You’ve just come into a lot of money, they tell me.” “But that doesn’t make any difference to young girls,” said Betty, simply. “Ho! doesn’t it?” said Madeleine, at which Betty laughed outright. She felt sure it couldn’t be true. Hillside Manor was a large and rather magnificent house, yet when Betty and Madeleine reached their room, they found it small and cramped. There was only one window, and though the two beds were narrow, they left but little space to move about. There was only one wash-stand, and, accustomed of late to having nice things about her, Betty looked around in dismay.