"Can I speak to you just one minute?" asked the little girl so eagerly, yet meekly, that Ada turned to her; but now that she had gained attention, Alma did not know how to proceed. She hesitated and clasped and unclasped her hands over the gingham apron. "Please—please"—she stammered, "don't be cross with Lucy. She felt sorry for me, but I'll never eat lunch with her,—truly."
"You don't know what you're talking about," rejoined Ada coldly.
"Yes, she does." It was Frank Morse's voice, and Ada, turning quickly, saw him and Lucy standing a few feet behind her. The four children were alone in the deserted hall.
"Here," went on Frank bluntly, "I want you two girls to kiss and make up."
Ada blushed violently as she met Lucy's questioning, wistful look.
"Are you coming down to the auto, Frank?" she asked coolly. "Mother will be waiting."
"Oh, come now, Ada, be a good fellow. If you and Lucy want to put on the gloves, I'll see fair play; but for pity's sake drop this icy look business. Great Scott, I'm glad I'm not a girl!"
The genuine disgust in the boy's tone as he closed did disturb Ada a little, and then Lucy added at once, beseechingly:
"Oh, it's like a bad dream, Ada, to have anything the matter between us!"
"Whose fault is it?" asked Ada sharply. "Why did you fly at me so yesterday?"