“Is it one of the things you thought of while you were being run away with?” asked Madeline quizzically.
Betty laughed and nodded. “You’d better make a list of the things I thought of, Miss Ayres, if the subject interests you so much.”
“Was there one for every scratch on your face?” asked Katherine.
Betty drew herself up with a comical affectation of offended dignity. “I almost wish I’d broken my collar-bone, as Bob thought I ought to. Then perhaps I should get a little sympathy.”
“And where would the costumes for the play have been, with you laid up in the infirmary for a month?” demanded Babbie with a groan.
“Do you know that’s the very thing I worried about most when Lady was running,” began Betty, so earnestly that everybody laughed again.
“Just the same it wouldn’t have been any joke, would it, about those costumes,” said Bob, when the mirth had subsided, “nor about all the other committee work that you’ve done and that nobody else knows much about.”
“Not even to mention that we should hate to have anything happen to you for purely personal reasons,” said Madeline, shivering in the warm sunshine as she remembered how that dreadful pile of white stones had glistened in the moonlight.
“I think this class would better pass a law: No more riding by prominent seniors,” declared Katherine Kittredge. “If Emily Davis should get spilled, there would go our good young Gobbo and our Ivy Day orator, besides nobody knows how much else.”
“Christy is toastmistress and Antonio.”