“Come in,” called that lady.
She was attired in a flowered kimono and was in the act of brushing her mouse-colored hair.
“My papers, Miss Hale,” announced Polly in her most frigid tones.
“Very well, if you will put them on my table, please.” Then as she turned to leave the room the demon in the Spartan prompted her to add: “Have you nothing to say? You know it is customary when one has thrown books about, to—”
“Oh, an apology,” interrupted Polly. “I suppose Mrs. Baird would wish it.” And looking straight into Miss Hale’s watery blue eyes, she said: “I apologize.”
It was insolence, of course, but, after all, an entire afternoon of Latin demands some outlet.
As Polly reached the corridor, Lois and Betty met her.
“Poor darling, are you awfully tired?” Lois asked. “We did miss you so; the coasting was—” but Polly interrupted her.
“Lois, if you dare tell me what a good time you had I’ll never speak to you again.” Then as she saw her surprised look, she added, laughing: “Don’t get worried, I’m just awfully cranky and my head is splitting.”
“Better wash your face in cold water,” suggested Betty, “and stop thinking of Latin. For