Mrs. Freeman sighed as she said these words.
"You are not to pick flowers, Miss O'Hara; it is against the rules of the school."
"Bridget, you are incorrigible. If kindness won't make you see that you are bound in honor to obey me, I must try punishment. Wretched child, I don't wish to be hard to you, but do what I say, you must!"
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She sat down presently on the nearest chair and covered her face with her hands. She could only resolve on one thing—she would certainly not yield to Mrs. Freeman's request—nothing would induce her to promise to obey the rules of the school.
Something, however, she could not tell what, restrained her from doing this. She sank back again in her chair; angry tears rose to her bright eyes, and burning spots appeared in her round cheeks."Oh, let me look; do let me look!" cried Ruth, while Olive and Janet both pressed eagerly forward.It would have been impossible for a much colder heart than Dorothy Collingwood's to resist her.
"Oh, well; it's all right for you to be here, I suppose," said Dorothy. "What were you saying, Bridget? I didn't catch that last sentence of yours."
Janet bent her fair face again over the open page; a faint flush had risen in each of her cheeks.
Bridget was a fortnight at the school, and had more or less shaken down into her place, when the evening arrived on which Miss Percival was to return.
"I don't agree with you," answered Olive. "Strength shows itself in many forms. Miss O'Hara is pretty."