There was silence in the room for a second after she had gone.
Then the babble began again, not of bidding this time, but of conjecture, laughter and jests.
“Mystery!” observed Zelda Darmeer, hunching up her shoulders.
“Who is out there, Peggy?” some one demanded. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”
“Yes, who’s there?” cried the others.
“The—the matron,” said Peggy, truthfully. “She came up and——”
“Well, she needn’t blame Morning Glory for this auction,” Zelda Darmeer started up; “I got up this auction, with two of the people from the first floor, to sell off our old duds. We didn’t even know Glory was coming into it, but when she heard it she seemed to be keen about it, so—but it isn’t her fault and I’ll tell Mrs. Ormsby so——”
She was forcing her way through the crowd in good earnest. The six rows of girls were stepped on and trodden under foot ruthlessly as she proceeded towards the door.
Peggy again sprang into position as guard. “Don’t,” she cried out, and then added in a more natural voice: “You’ve got us all here, now go on with the auction.”
“Oh,” said Zelda, mystified, but amenable, “all right. I suppose she’ll be back in a minute, and Ormsby can’t do much anyway.”