“Binks Ames didn’t ask her because she was afraid she’d muddle it,” Georgia explained lucidly, putting the cart before the horse. “Binks discovered her, and told us to tell you. She’s in the infirmary—Binks, I mean, and the other girl, too. Got the mumps, Binks has, and the other one had rheumatism or something. Binks is my freshman cousin—the peculiar one from Boston. Her real name is Elizabeth B. Browning Ames—after the poetess. Her mother goes in for Browning classes and things, but Binks is the soul of prose.”
“Tell her about the Morton Hall-ite,” advised Straight. “Binks hasn’t anything to do much with it.”
“That’s so,” agreed Georgia placidly, “but she’s rather an interesting person, and Betty ought to meet her. She’s the kind that’s always discovering things—just the way she discovered this girl.”
“Georgia,” declared Madeline amiably, “I always knew you had a weakness, of course—all mortal creatures have. Now I’ve discovered that it’s a weakness for family history. In order to start you on the right track let me ask you a leading question. What are the Morton Hall-ite’s name, class, and qualifications for admission?”
“Name unknown, class unknown, qualifications extreme general forlornness, and a boarding place at the end of nowhere.”
“Where is that?” asked Betty smilingly.
“Oh, Binks didn’t dare ask,” explained Georgia. “You see Binks knows she’s an awful blunderer at being nice to people.”
“Then how——” began Betty.
“Oh, that’s all arranged,” explained Georgia easily. “You can come with me to-morrow when I go to see Binks, and if we explain a little to the matron she’ll let you in to see the other one. Everybody is sorry for her, because she seems so blue and forlorn, and never gets calls or flowers or letters.”
“She sounds rather formidable, some way,” Betty demurred. “I think it would be better for one of the faculty members of the board to go and see her and ask her.”