that Constance, when in the Intermediate class the year before, had frightened one of the poor new teachers almost to death by reciting Lady Macbeth’s sleep walking scene, at twelve o’clock one night.
Polly liked her at once. There was something very beautiful about her firm mouth, straight nose, high cheek bones, and big, dreamy brown eyes.
“This is Angela Hollywood,” Louise continued. “Don’t take any stock in her name, it’s deceiving.”
Angela, who looked like an old-fashioned painting with her eyes as blue as the sky, her pink and white cheeks, and her soft ringlets of golden-brown hair, scowled threateningly.
“Your being a Senior,” she drawled, “is all that saves you from my wrath.” Then, turning to Polly, she continued: “Don’t let her give you a wrong impression; you see, she’s jealous. I really am quite angelic—”
“Do tell me when that is,” demanded a voice from the other end of the corridor. The girls turned to look and there, standing with suit case and tennis racket in hand, dressed in a blue Peter Thompson sailor suit, her tawny-colored hair tied half way down her back with a black ribbon, her dark eyes dancing with fun, stood Lois Farwell.
Polly, standing to one side as the girls crowded around the newcomer, realized that in some way she was different from the other girls. The welcome she was receiving showed her to be a general favorite
and much thought of. When in a few minutes she was shaking hands with her, she understood. Lois was evidently born to be liked.
The girls rattled on, asking a million questions at once. Louise left for the society of her own class, and Polly went to her room to unpack her case.
In a few minutes there was a knock at her door; one of the maids had come to tell her she was wanted in the reception-room to say good-by to her uncle. As she started down the corridor she met Lois.