"Of course!" Miss Kingsley's tone savoured slightly of impatience. "And the urgent matter is to supply their places. It's like making bricks without straw. Haven't you any suggestions? I do wish you'd stop rocking, it worries me to hear your chair creak!"
Miss Janet, seasoned by thirty-five years' acquaintance with her sister's nervous temperament, rose and walked to the window, where she stood looking out over the sunlit tennis court to the bank of exotic shrubs that half hid the blue line of the sea. There was a moment's pause, then she said:
"Suppose you read over the list of 'eligibles', and we'll discuss their points each in turn."
Miss Kingsley reached for a certain black-backed shiny exercise-book and opened it. The entries were in her own neat hand.
"There will only be eight girls in the Sixth Form this term," she volunteered. "Taking them in alphabetical order they are: Nellie Appleby, Claire Bardsley, Claudia Castleton, Vivien Forrester, Lorraine Forrester, Audrey Roberts, Dorothy Skipton, and Patricia Sullivan."
Miss Janet smiled.
"First of all you may cross off the last," she suggested.
"Decidedly. Patsie Sullivan as head girl would be about as suitable as—as——"
Miss Kingsley paused for an appropriate simile.
"As making Charlie Chaplin Archbishop of Canterbury!" finished Miss Janet with a chuckle.