"Well, it's true," Sally said dismally. "Mother had a letter this morning from the head of the school and it's all arranged."
"Oh, Sally—" the girls were speechless, each tried to picture the loss of Sally, first to herself, and then to the school; then they looked at Phyllis and Janet and then at Daphne, and realized that their sorrow could not be compared to theirs. One by one they slipped away, and the four girls were left alone.
"Oh, Aunt Jane's poll parrot, do say something," Sally said at last. There were tears in her voice, and the girls were quick to notice them.
"Oh, Sally, why didn't you tell us?" Phyllis asked.
"Didn't get a chance," Sally replied; "and anyway I couldn't somehow."
Janet put her hand over her friend's and squeezed it. There was nothing to say.
"It's—it's all wrong,"—there was more feeling in Daphne's voice than her usual drawl permitted.
The bell fell on their silence a minute later.
It was not until the study hour was almost over that Phyllis realized that Muriel had not come. Sally's news had completely swamped all other thoughts. She put up the lid of her desk and under its cover slipped a note back to Janet. She read it and passed it to Sally, who shook her head and looked puzzled.
"Hope she isn't sick," she whispered.