"Not a bit," Carita answered cheerfully. "Everybody knows that a poor clergyman's daughter would never get in a school like this without some help. It was splendid of you to do it. I don't mind any one's knowing. Honestly I don't, Blue Bonnet. Don't be angry." Blue Bonnet sat down limply in a chair and covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Blue Bonnet! Why did you make me tell you? I knew it would only make you unhappy. What difference does it make, anyway?" "Just this difference: I like Annabel--for herself--and she likes me for what I've got. I suppose that's the way _all_ those girls feel--Sue and Wee, and Ruth--" Carita was down at Blue Bonnet's side in an instant, her arms about her. "You know that isn't true, Blue Bonnet. Everybody loves you for yourself. Why, I have the loveliest 'trade last' for you, right this minute. I'll give it to you now, and you can save mine till you hear it. Mary Boyd says--" Blue Bonnet shrank away, and shook her head. "Never mind," she said, "it isn't compliments I want. It's friends!" "Well, you've got 'em--loads! Look at the We Are Sevens! They perfectly adore you. Now, don't they?" "Well, I reckon they like me," Blue Bonnet acknowledged, and her face brightened. "I shouldn't have told you all this, Blue Bonnet, only you made me. I wouldn't have dropped the hint about Annabel, only I think she's so awful nervy about wearing your clothes. Why, your Peter Tom's a sight--and that yellow dress--" "Oh, I don't care about the clothes, Carita. Uncle Cliff will get me some more. Annabel hasn't hurt them any. The Peter Tom will clean. You know how white wool soils, yourself." Indeed there was no excuse that Blue Bonnet would not have made for Annabel. She had grown very fond of the little Southern girl in the five weeks past. Annabel had a way of ingratiating herself into the affections of her associates. She had the charm that is an inheritance of the South; the musical softness of speech, the daintiness of person, the warmth of heart; and--although Blue Bonnet had it yet to learn--a genius for friendship. In Annabel Jackson's veins flowed the bluest of Southern blood. Her grandfather--the old General, known throughout the length and breadth of Tennessee--was an aristocrat of the old school. He boasted of an ancestry that defied criticism. Annabel was not a snob--but she was a sybarite; she loved the soft things of life, the luxuries, the pleasures: she turned toward them as naturally as a flower turns to the sun. This tendency had earned for her the reputation of "toady" by those who did not understand her, or were inclined to judge from the surface. She gave--was in a position to give--- as much as she got, always, and her affections were sincere and lasting. Blue Bonnet finished packing her suitcase.