When they had reached the diner, Ethel reproved her slightly for her confidence.
“Of course I trust Walter,” she said; “but he’s awfully careless, and ten chances to one he’ll get so absorbed in his puppy-love-letter that he’ll forget all about the door. And almost anybody might get in.”
“Oh, I guess not,” said Marjorie, carelessly. “Anyway, I’ll take a chance.”
But when the girls all returned to their compartment, they found, to their amazement, that somebody not only had been there, but was still occupying the best chair in the room—somebody so totally unlike anyone they had ever seen that they felt as if they must be dreaming. An old woman, so powdered and rouged as to conceal her real age, dressed in an ill-fitting, long, black dress and gray bonnet, gazed at them as they entered. Doris, who was the first to enter the room, immediately jumped to the conclusion that this was the new lieutenant. But Marjorie and Lily, who knew that this was not the case, were at their wits end for an explanation.
“How do you do!” said Doris, politely.
The woman eyed her critically, with a scowl on her face.
“You the Girl Scouts?” she asked, in a shrill, unpleasant voice. “I’m Miss Proctor, your new lieutenant.”
The other girls had all pressed into the compartment, and stood with wide open eyes, listening with horror to the woman’s announcement. Doris continued as spokesman for the party.
“Yes,” she said, “Mrs. Remington wrote that we might expect you.”
“Well, here I am! And look here—you’re all going to walk the chalk-line! No more foolin’ with boys, as long as I’m your boss! And no card-playing! To bed every night at nine o’clock!”