"I am, worse luck."
"Miss Plumtree? And your head is bad again, isn't it, dear?"
"Yes," said Miss Plumtree wearily.
She was a fair, round-faced girl of five or six and twenty who suffered from frequent sick headaches. She worked for longer hours than any one else, and had a reputation for "making muddles." It was popularly supposed that Miss Vivian "had a down on her," but the Hostel liked Miss Plumtree, and affectionately called her Greengage and Gooseberry-bush.
"Greengage got another headache?" Miss Marsh asked concernedly. "I can take your duty to-night, dear, quite well."
"Thanks awfully, Marsh; it's sweet of you, but I haven't got leave to change. You know last time, when Tony took duty for me, Miss Vivian asked why I wasn't there."
"I can say you're sick."
"Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't like it," said Miss Plumtree, looking nervous and undecided.
"I think you ought to be in bed, I must say," said Mrs. Bullivant uncertainly.
"She certainly doesn't look fit to sit at that awful telephone for two and a half hours; and there are heaps of letters to-night. I can answer for the Hospital Department, anyway," sighed Miss Henderson. "Marshy, you look pretty tired yourself. I can quite well take the telephone if you like. I'm not doing anything."