Events marched. She was taken to town and a school outfit bought for her. She was allowed no word of choice in her things. Max, coldly distant, and Miss Watts, nervously conciliatory, accompanied her during this ordeal of fitting and ordering. A month earlier, she would have worked up a plan of revolt and carried it through, but now, it did not seem worth while. Their attitude toward her struck in on her spirit. She hated the thought of the school, but she was glad she was going away. "What's the name of this place they're sending me?" she asked Miss Watts one day. "The Hill Top School." "Where is it?" "In Massachusetts. It is a very nice school, and I think you will be happy there." "Won't I? Just!" Miss Watts frowned. There was a queer streak of cynicism growing in the child that gave her pause. She was fond of her, in her way, but she was glad that her responsibility for her was soon to cease. She had been induced by Mrs. Bryce to deliver Isabelle at the school, as the day of her departure fell in horse-show week, and The Beeches was to be full of house guests. It was a ripe, mellow, September day when they left. A day on which Isabelle longed to fling herself into the saddle and gallop and gallop through the red and yellow world. Instead, for some heinous but incomprehensible crime, she was being sent to prison. That was the attitude of mind in which she viewed it. "All right, now, Isabelle; the motor is here. Have you said good-bye to your mother?" inquired Miss Watts, all a-flutter. "Yes," lied Isabelle, and hurried down to the car. Wally was at the wheel. "Are you driving us to the station, Wally?" she asked. "I thought I would," he answered, embarrassed. She got in and sat beside him. Her attempt at a smile worried him. After all, she was just a kid, being bundled off in disgrace. He felt a vague regret that he meant so little to her. He wondered if she really loved any one. Then her search for "regular parents" came back to haunt him. Funny business this, having kids. Not so simple---- "All right, kid?" he asked her, as they waited for the train. "Oh, yes," she said, with an effort at her old _insouciance_. "Good-bye," he said jocosely, adding, as the train came in, with an effort to avoid any emotion: "Write if you need money." He kissed her, and she clung to him. "You're a good old thing, Wally," she said, hoarsely; and then, silently, she followed Miss Watts into the train. CHAPTER TWELVE