"Thank you, Miss Julian," replied Allison gratefully, and still feeling stunned at the suddenness and vagueness of the news contained in the telegram, she hurried back to her cubicle to pull off her tunic, resume her ordinary frock, and throw a few things she would need into a small hand-case. She then sought out Deirdre and told her of her urgent and immediate summons to London.
"Oh, I am so sorry," said Deirdre at once. "Can't I do anything—help you pack?"
"No, thanks all the same. I'm not taking much with me. Only just got time to swallow some dinner—Prinny insists on it—then rush for my train. Sorry I have to let the team down like this," and Allison was gone, leaving the dismayed hockey captain to dash round the school, hunting out another recruit for the team. At length she ran down one of the Fourth Form players.
"Get into your tunic, Olive, will you?" she said peremptorily. "I want you to come as reserve. Lorna, who is down as reserve, will be playing after all."
Bad tidings travel quickly. In a very few minutes an excited little group of hockey players, who had gathered in the hall to await the dinner bell, were discussing the bad news in dismay.
"Oh dear!" said Glenda, as Madge gave them the details. "What hard luck for Allison! I do hope her mother's illness isn't serious! Rotten luck for us, too, though, of course, we shan't mind if things come right for Allison. I'm afraid it means losing the match to-day. Allison at centre-half is as good as half a dozen ordinary players, and we've no one to put in her place."
The girls nodded with grave faces. Allison's presence in the team did indeed make all the difference, for she was a tower of strength in the defence, her judgment in popping up just where the ball was coming being positively uncanny; her passes to her forwards were generally inspired, as Deirdre once said, and the fiercer the opposition the higher the level of play Allison seemed able to attain. Last, but by no means least, her presence in the team acted as a kind of moral support to the rest of the players. With these thoughts in their minds the girls looked at each other in dismayed silence. It was indeed hard luck—just when they had begun to believe that their dreams of seeing the shield the property of St. Etheldreda's had an excellent chance of becoming a reality.
Glenda was suddenly recalled to the present by a fierce and decidedly painful grip on her arm.
"Ow!" she gasped. "Who's pinching me?" and turned round to behold Irene standing at her elbow and wearing such a transformed expression—her face white with emotion, her eyes blazing with excitement—that she exclaimed in astonishment: "What's the matter, Irene? Have you just seen a ghost, or what?"
"The t—telegram!" stuttered Irene, speaking with a visible effort. "I've just remembered that the l—letter m—mentioned a telegram."