"You must value it," Perry observed, "to throw it in an open locker and leave it there."
The girl's cheeks were burning. "I won't stay here to be insulted."
"You wouldn't be here at all if you obeyed the Northfield laws. One fur hat and one coat trimmed with fur."
"Mine," Betty snapped. "My name's stamped on the hat lining, and one of my notebooks is in the right-hand coat pocket."
"One vanity case, one pair of gloves with a hole in one finger."
"You needn't criticise my gloves," the girl cried angrily.
"I wouldn't know anything about them if they hadn't been brought here," Perry reminded her.
She wanted to walk out, to leave her belongings there, to turn an outraged back upon him and leave him to a hollow triumph. But, somehow, even in her wrath, she felt a compelling, arresting force that would not let her go. He was gathering up the clothing, piling it neatly and she walked toward him tight-lipped, to take what was hers. He did not push it to her across the desk.
"It's worse for a girl to be careless," he said, "than it is for a fellow. People expect a girl to be orderly. If she isn't orderly, what kind of
