"We'll never persuade the Seniors to give us all the courts again!" wailed Fiona Campbell. "They said so emphatically that it was only to be for this once."
"I believe they knew it was going to be wet!" growled Dilys Fenton.
"You don't think if it cleared a little we might manage just a set before tea?" suggested Norah Bell half hopefully.
"My good girl, please to look at the lawn! Do you think anyone in her senses would try to play on a swamp like that?"
"It's getting too late in the year for tennis," yawned Hetty Hancock. "Don't believe we shall get another game at all. We'd better resign ourselves."
"Resign ourselves to what?" asked Daisy Scatcherd.
"Why, to leaving the championship till next summer, and to not going out to-day, and to sitting stuffing here and moaning our bad luck, and feeling as cross as a bear with a toothache—at least, that's how I feel: I don't know what the rest of you do!"
"I should like to have gone home with the day girls," sighed Dilys Fenton.
"No, you wouldn't!" snapped Norah Bell. "You know it's jollier to be a boarder; we do have some jolly times, even if it does rain. You can't expect it always to keep fine, and as for——"
"Oh, Norah, don't preach! We must have our growls—it lets off steam. I think it's the wretchedest, miserablest, detestablest, most altogether sickening afternoon that ever was—there!"