While Betty made fresh tea for the late comers, Madeline wrote her note. “Dear Dr. Eaton”—it began:
“I was rather surprised to get a complaint from you about my cuts. I do not think my name can be in the right place on your roll, for I have listened carefully and I never hear it called. Some one said to-day that she thought it was down at the very end of the list. If so, I never noticed it and that probably explains most of the cuts.”
Madeline paused. “Isn’t that rather lovely? You know he hasn’t called the roll but once since he came.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Mary breathlessly. “Go on.”
“As for the very recent absences,” Madeline continued, “I am sure you must have heard how ill I have been. You remember the cold Wednesday we had two weeks ago? I sat right beside the open window in English Essayists, and that night I came down with pneumonia. I am much better now—quite out of danger, the doctor says,—but he insists on my trying a warmer climate this winter. So I am off for Arizona to-morrow. I shall be very sorry to leave Harding, particularly your classes. I find the lectures anything but dull.
“Hoping to return to my work soon, I am
“Sincerely yours,“
“Georgia Ames.”
“That is great,” declared Katherine, when Madeline had finished.
Madeline laughed. “If you think so, you might be the one to give it to him.”