No matter how much pride rebelled; no matter how much she disliked to retract anything she had said, she knew no other course lay open to her.

She would have to apologize to Mr.Clarke.

How could she?
What would she say?
She remembered how cold and stern his face had been as he turned from her to Lydia.

Perplexed and unhappy, Betty did what any girl in her position would have done: she resorted to the consoling and unfailing privilege of her sex--a good cry.
When she became composed again she got up and bathed her hot cheeks, brushed her hair, and changed her gown for a becoming one of white.
She tied a red ribbon about her throat and put a rosette in her hair.

She had forgotten all about the Indians.