“How do you do?” she echoed. “I—I hope you are well, Annie Laurie. This—this is a very—pleasant school.”
The words stuck in her throat, and she was ashamed to find how much she wanted to cry.
The new girl looked toward Mrs. Carson.
“Ought I to stay, ma’am?” she asked. “You know I could manage at the other school some way. Wouldn’t it be better if—”
“You will do us a favor if you stay with us,” Mrs. Carson said. And: “Yes, stay, my dear,” urged Helena Parkhurst, making the girls realize for the first time that Annie Laurie had not been presented to Miss Parkhurst, and that the two must have been acquainted before. How long, the girls wondered, had this conspiracy been in the air? Had it really been decided only that morning?
“Will you take up your studies to-day, then, Annie Laurie?” Miss Parkhurst asked. “Mrs. Carson, do you think her father would object?”
“I can telephone him,” Mrs. Carson replied. “We already have had some conversation about the matter. He has been thinking of sending Annie Laurie away to school, but to do such a thing, he said, would leave him very, very lonely, since Annie Laurie is his only child.”
“Oh, it could be managed,” the girl broke in. “I know it could, but—”
Mrs. Carson raised a white hand.
“It will be quite all right,” she said with gentle firmness. “Miss Parkhurst, you have three pupils.”