"Where is my nail polish? Who used it?"

Samantha glared angrily at the other three girls.

Rose raised one eyebrow pointedly. "Sammy, dear, I only use pale pink, and Merrill and Meggie don't use polish at all. None of us are at all likely to have borrowed your red polish. You probably just misplaced it."

Samantha ignored her and continued to stare at Meggie, who was trying to ignore the chaos as they all prepared for the concert that evening.

"What did you do with it?"

"Are you asking me?" Meggie asked.

"Of course! You hid it, didn't you?"

"Why would I do that?" Meggie asked, genuinely bewildered.

Samantha stalked close and waved a vehement finger in front of Meggie's face. "Because you're jealous of me. You want Graham for yourself, and you're hoping that if you can make me look bad tonight, he'll break up with me."

Meggie's mouth dropped open at the ridiculous accusation.

"Sammy, be reasonable," Rose intervened, trying to lighten the situation with a laugh. "If Meggie wanted to make you look bad, she'd do far worse than steal your nail polish."

Both girls ignored her. "I would never stoop so low," Meggie said icily, "as to interfere with another girl's things, simply because I disliked her."

"Oh, we all know you are perfect and innocent and pure," Samantha sneered. "Everyone loves you, and you love everyone, and the rest of us are nowhere near as good as you are! You've been rubbing that in ever since you got here. Don't think you fool me—you've never fooled me. I know what you're really like under that sweet façade. And don't think I won't tell Graham, either! If you come between us, you will regret it."

"Are you threatening me?" Meggie blazed in righteous indignation. "How dare you say such things? You have no right!"

Samantha narrowed her eyes. "Are you disregarding my warning?"

"Graham and I are just friends, but I will not let anyone dictate how I live my life! If he asks me to be his girlfriend, I will answer as I want, not as you want." Meggie's italics were laced with scorn. She had never been so angry, not even when Samantha had tried to use her to flirt with Peter and Bran. "I have never done anything to you to deserve such treatment—I even apologized the one time I spoke badly! You are a mean-spirited, narrow-minded, selfish, shallow girl, and I hope Graham does see through you, because he deserves far better!"

Samantha faltered before the onslaught. "I hate you," she said in a low voice. "I hate you!"

With that, she whirled around and rushed out of the room.

The other three girls looked at each other in stunned silence as the door's bang died off into echoes. Merrill looked close to tears, while Rose's face was suddenly inscrutable.

Meggie's anger slowly faded; her crimson cheeks paled back to their usual pink. She felt thoroughly ashamed of herself for speaking so to Samantha. True, the other girl had said unforgivable things, but she, Meggie, ought to have had enough self-control not to react to them as she had.

"I'm sorry," she said into the silence. "Merrill—please don't cry. I'm sorry. I'll go apologize to Samantha."

Rose caught her arm as she turned to go. "Don't," she said warningly.

"Why not?"

Rose shook her head. "Meggie, how much do you really know about Samantha?"

Meggie thought. "Not much at all," she confessed.

"Her mother was once about as poor as anyone could be. She was ill-bred, too, but very beautiful, and she caught the eye of Samuel Kerr, eldest son of one of Toronto's wealthiest men.

"They married, against his family's wishes, and Samantha was born a year later. By that point, her mother's beauty had started to fade, and she and Samantha's father were beginning to realize how little they suited each other. They fought constantly for the next five years—that was all Samantha ever heard from them—until one day, her mother just left. Walked out.

"Samuel Kerr gave his daughter to his mother to raise—he said, in her hearing, that he wanted nothing more to do with her ever. Samantha has spent the last ten years in her grandmother's house, never seeing her father, with no idea of where her mother is, and being constantly reminded that she has, as far as her father's family is concerned, tainted blood."

Meggie felt sick to her stomach. Merrill had tears streaming down her face.

Rose sighed and sat down on Meggie's neat bed. "Sammy knows that the only way she can gain any respect from her grandmother—who scrupulously takes care of her physical needs, so that to the world she bears no reproach—is to marry into a good family. That's what she is doing here. Violin, though she loves it and if good at it, is only an excuse. She needs a husband.

"Graham is wealthy, and both his mother and father come from impeccable families. Samantha has hoped to catch his eye ever since the year started. She thought this concert might be the way … until you and Graham had the duet, and he started showing interest in you, Meggie."

Meggie slid down onto the floor next to her bed and leaned her head against Rose's knee. "I am utterly ashamed of myself."

Rose patted her head. "Don't blame yourself too much, dear. Sammy is fiercely proud. She doesn't want anyone to know—and if either of you tell her I betrayed her confidence like this, I'll tear your eyes out!"

Rose's ferocious tone was a welcome relief to the tragic story they had just heard, and both Meggie and Merrill giggled a little.

"How do you know all this, Rosy?" Merrill asked wonderingly, wiping her eyes with a linen handkerchief.

Rose shrugged. "People tell me things, I don't know why."

"I thought you told us you can't keep secrets," Meggie reminded her.

"Ordinary secrets, no, but something like this …" Rose shook her head. "I'd be a beast not to keep this one."

"What can I do to make it up to her?" Meggie asked.

"Don't let her suspect you pity her," Rose warned. "Sammy will hate you all the more for that. Just—try to be a little nicer to her. You have always shown her how much you disapprove of her."

"I didn't know," Meggie murmured, not as an excuse, but merely out of the fullness of her heart.

"I know, but Sammy just thought that you looked down on her like everyone else, and she saw your loving family and it made an even greater contrast with hers, and so then she stiffened toward you and only showed her worst side, which made you even colder toward her, and it just grew and grew. I hated seeing it," Rose concluded helplessly. "But what could I do?"

"It certainly isn't your fault," Meggie said. "You are kind toward everyone. I should have been better."

"What's past is past," Merrill said comfortingly. "We'll just have to try to be nicer to Samantha now."

"You mean I will," Meggie corrected. She smiled ruefully at her two friends. "Instead of thinking about myself and how much I missed my family, I should have paid more attention to you two, and the way you treat people. We Blythes—we tend to get wrapped up in ourselves and our family, and think that anyone born outside is automatically at a disadvantage." As she spoke, she wondered, not how she knew such things, but how she had never seen them before. "We're too proud; we think too highly of ourselves. Just being born as part of our family doesn't make us special, it's how we treat people. And I—I don't think I've been treating people very well for a while, now."

"Don't be too harsh," Rose said, petting her again. "It's not like you've been a perfect shrew. And we're not exactly perfect, either—well, maybe Merrill is, but I'm not."

"Oh Rose," Merrill protested.

Meggie laughed and felt better. "I'll apologize to Samantha for speaking as I did the first chance I get," she said. "And first …" she checked the clock. "I need to run a quick errand."

"We have to be at the concert hall in an hour!" Rose warned.

"I know," Meggie said. "I won't be long."

Before either girl could remonstrate further, she snatched her hat and shoulder bag and was out the door.


To Meggie's great joy, Samantha was alone in the room when she returned. The older girl looked immaculate as usual, despite her unpolished nails, but Meggie saw the telltale signs of tears hidden underneath the powder on her face.

Samantha flushed as soon as Meggie entered, but her habit of pride served Meggie well, for rather than rushing out, she remained before her mirror, brushing her hair and ignoring the Island girl.

Meggie began slowly; she didn't want to say the wrong thing by rushing. "Samantha," she said. "I owe you a great apology—not only for my behaviour today, which was inexcusable, but for my rudeness to you ever since we met. You were right—I have been judging you from the beginning. I was very wrong."

Samantha deigned no reply, but her eyes met Meggie's in the mirror.

"I was so afraid, when I arrived here, that all the other girls were going to look down on me for being a farm girl, and for being from Prince Edward Island instead of a grander province. When I saw you, you seemed to match all my preconceived ideas about what the girls here were going to be like that I just assumed you were going to despise me—and so I began to despise you, without ever giving you a chance."

Samantha had abandoned all pretence of brushing her hair. She turned around so that she was facing Meggie, but she still said nothing.

At least she wasn't pretending nothing was wrong, like last time. Meggie was grateful for that. "As for today," she said, getting to the end of her speech, "I really have no excuse. I was angry at what you said, but that still cannot justify my response. I am very, very sorry, and I hope someday you can forgive me."

She held out a small package. "Here."

Samantha took it tentatively. "I don't know what to say," she said with an attempt at her careless laugh.

Meggie indicated the package. "Just open it."

Samantha did so. The brown paper fell away to reveal a small bottle of crimson nail polish. Samantha looked up at Meggie.

"I didn't take the other," Meggie said, "But I hoped this would serve as a sort of peace offering."

"I know you didn't take it," Samantha said, staring at the bottle in her hand. "I remembered after I left. I used the last of it two days ago and forgot to replace it."

Meggie guessed that was as close as she was going to get to being forgiven.

"You ought to get ready," Samantha said, changing the subject. "You want to look your best tonight. Aren't some of your family coming?"

"They are," Meggie said simply, pulling her navy blue skirt and white middy blouse off their respective hangers.

"Is that—" Samantha began, then caught herself. "I know you don't care very much about clothes," she said instead, "but if you would like to borrow one of my blouses, I don't mind."

Meggie recognized that as a peace offering, and accepted it. She was just as happy to not have to wear her old middy blouse, anyway—even she could now recognize that the style was too young for her.

"Thank you," she said, taking the soft ruffled blouse. "I'll try not to spill anything on it."

"It's an old one," Samantha said with a momentary resumption of her haughty attitude.

"It's lovely," Meggie said honestly.

Samantha shrugged. "My grandmother picks out all my clothes," she said. "I don't really care about any of them."

"What sort of styles do you like?" Meggie asked, finishing buttoning the blouse and slipping into her navy flats.

Samantha looked surprised. "I don't know. I've never really thought about it before."

"You should talk to Graham's mother," Meggie suggested. "She came to visit Auntie Di a couple of years ago, and I thought she was very stylish."

"Your aunt knows Mrs. Giraud?" Samantha asked in wonder.

"Yes, they worked together at my aunt's Orphan Home before Mrs. Giraud married Mr. Giraud. I think that's one of the reasons they adopted Graham—Mrs. Giraud had such fond memories of the Home."

Samantha stopped painting her nails. She stared at Meggie. "Graham is adopted?"

"Yes, didn't you know?"

Samantha shook her head. "Are you certain?"

"Yes; Mrs. Giraud mentioned it when she visited Auntie Di. I don't think they've ever tried to hide it. Hasn't Graham ever told you?"

"No. I never would have … But he is born well, isn't he? His birth parents, they were well-established and wealthy, weren't they?"

"I don't think I've ever heard about his birth parents," Meggie said. "I just know that both Auntie Di and Mrs. Giraud made a habit of taking in children nobody else wanted."

Samantha didn't say anything else until they were both dressed and heading down the stairs toward the concert hall. Then she said,

"Since you were so good as to apologize to me, I feel I ought to tell you—Graham and I aren't as serious as I might have led you to believe. In fact we—well, he isn't really my boyfriend at all."

Meggie couldn't stop the smile that quirked up the corners of her lips. "I was beginning to wonder why he never said anything about you, even though he knew we were roommates."

Samantha smiled slightly at that. "So," she said, with the air of one bestowing a great favour, "if you want to be his girlfriend, I won't stand in your way."

"He hasn't asked me, but thank you," Meggie said.

She couldn't figure out what had caused Samantha's change of heart toward Graham until she recalled their conversation regarding his origins. If Samantha needed to marry someone of good family in order to gain her family's respect, a poor boy adopted into a good family would not gain as much prestige as one born wealthy.

Meggie felt a little irritated at Samantha's shallowness at first. Then she thought of Rose's tale again, and realized she was in no place to judge.

She had been doing too much judging already.