"I heard something yesterday," resumed Miss Castlevaine, "that I guess you won't like—I don't know what we're coming to! Miss Major got it in a roundabout way through one of the managers, and it may not be true; but they say they're going to cut out our Wednesday pudding and our Sunday pie!" Her little blue eyes glared at her listeners.
Juanita Sterling dropped back in her chair. "What next!" she ejaculated.
"They'll be keeping us on mackerel and corned beef yet!" snapped Miss Castlevaine. "As if we didn't pay enough when we came here to insure us first-class board for the rest of our lives' I gave them three thousand dollars—I was a fool to do it!—and I have been here only two years! If they keep that woman much longer—!" The flashing eyes and set lips finished the sentence.
"Well, ain't that great!" cried Miss Crilly. "I didn't bring any such pile as you did, Miss Castlevaine, but that isn't to the point! They've got more money 'n they know what to do with! What they saving their old barrelful for, anyway? Not a scrap o' dessert from one week's end to another—goodness gracious me!"
CHAPTER VIII
WAITING TO BE THANKED
Juanita Stirling sat alone with her roses, trying to think it all out. The other ladies were down in the parlor, where Mrs. Nobbs was reading aloud; but to-night Egyptian archaeology had no charm for the possessor of the pink roses. How could she wander through prehistoric scenes while somebody was waiting to be thanked! Somebody—but who? The roses knew! Yet they would not tell! Little quivers of light fluttered in and out of their alluring hearts, almost as if they said, "We are telling! We are telling! Only you will not understand!" The woman gazed wistfully at them—and sighed. The secret of the roses held her through the long, still hours of the evening. What possible reason could the superintendent have had for withholding the name, unless—! She shook her head and sternly chided her cheeks for rivaling the roses. If only Polly hadn't—but was it Polly? Had not that name appeared before Polly spoke? She clinched her teeth in scorn for herself. "'There's no fool like an old fool,'" she muttered contemptuously. No doubt it was Georgiana Lake. To-morrow she would write Mrs. Lake a note of thanks. There would be no risk in that. Yes, she would do it! She would be a fool no longer! And if the roses chuckled over her decision she never knew it.
The note went by the morning's mail. Its answer came in two days.
My dear Nita
You are a witch fit for the hanging! How did you
know—how could you guess!—I was going to send
you some of our Pink Ramblers? Only they are not
quite blossomed out enough yet. When they are you
shall have more than you can hold in your two small
hands! But to thank me for them ahead of time! It
is just like you! You always were a witch! Why don't
you come to see me? I should have been up last visiting
day only that the house was full of workmen, and
Isabel had engagements, and somebody must stay—I
was the somebody!—A visitor! Too bad! Love—
GEORGIANA.
Before the pink roses had lost a petal another box was brought to Miss Sterling's door. Her fingers quivered with hope as she untied the ribbon. The address was in the same firm, open hand. A shimmer of gold met her first glance, but the scrap of white she had longed for was missing. Without doubt the pilferer had thwarted her again. She put the yellow beauties into water with half-hearted pleasure. Why couldn't Miss Sniffen let her have her own! She pounded the air with her little impotent fists. She did not go down to tea. Unhappiness and worry are not appetizers.