"I suppose you will have to be civil, but you must not be intimate. You are to see no more of her than you can help. It is very annoying that she goes by the same train. In such a large school as Avondale there are surely plenty of other and more suitable girls with whom you can make friends."
"Not one so nice as Dorothy," gulped Alison, beginning to cry. "If you'd only ask her, and see for yourself!"
"Birdie, I don't want to be cross with you, but you must understand, once and for all, that I will not have this girl at the house. No, I shall not explain; it is quite enough for you that I forbid it. Don't mention the subject to me again."
Alison ran upstairs in floods of tears. She could not understand why her mother had taken this sudden prejudice against Dorothy. The thought of breaking off the friendship was misery to her; added to this, she was so used to getting her own way that it seemed strange to have any reasonable request refused--and she considered this one to be most reasonable. In matters of health she was accustomed to obey, to submit to be wrapped up in shawls, to put on galoshes, to be kept in bed and dosed and dieted; but where her health was not concerned she had almost invariably been consulted, and her wishes gratified. It was the first time her mother had ever flatly refused to listen to her coaxings, or had spoken to her with the least approach to severity, and such a state of affairs was as unpleasant as it was unusual.
"She really meant it, too," sobbed Alison. "Oh, dear! What am I to do? Dorothy'll think me such an atrocious sneak!"
When Dorothy left Lindenlea she had exactly three minutes in which to catch her train. Her long legs raced down the drive and along the road to the station. Panting and out of breath, she rushed up the incline to the little gate. The train had come in; she could see the smoke from the engine. It generally only waited for about a minute, but there was still time to get in, if she were extremely quick.
"Ticket, please," said the collector at the gate.
"Contract!" cried Dorothy, trying to rush past; but the man put out his arm to bar the way.
"Show it, please; I must see all contracts," he said curtly.
Chafing at the delay, Dorothy felt in her pocket; then to her dismay she remembered that she had left her contract at home. The officials at Hurford and Coleminster knew her so well by sight that when once they had seen her season ticket on the first day of the term, they never asked to look at it again, but simply let her pass unchallenged. As she was not required to produce it daily, she had grown careless, and often forgot to take it with her. The collector at Latchworth had not seen her before, and of course could not tell that she possessed a season ticket at all.