‘I don’t mind moving,’ she said, getting up again and rubbing her elbow, ‘but I do wish I knew where to move to.’
‘Can’t you find out?’ asked the owner of the bookshelf inconsistently, as she rushed off with her arms full of books.
Barbara sighed again. Try as she might to make the best of things, it was a little tiring to be such a universal object of complaint.
‘Hullo, Babe! You ought not to be here,’ said a cheery voice from the seniors’ room, and Ruth Oliver put her head round the red curtain. ‘This is only the playroom, you know, and, except for preparation or for fetching your books between the classes, you are never supposed to use it in lesson-time. The classrooms are upstairs.’
‘I know I oughtn’t to be here,’ answered Babs, ruefully. ‘I never am where I ought to be.’
‘But Finny sent for you, ages ago,’ said Ruth, looking astonished. ‘Didn’t Jean tell you? She’s a young horror, that Jean. Never mind, come along with me, and I’ll show you the way.’
She hurried the child through the baize door into the front hall, and pointed out a room that was close to the foot of the stairs. ‘That’s Finny’s study,’ she said hastily. ‘You’d better look sharp. Good luck to you!’ She gave her an unexpected kiss that promptly secured her the child’s allegiance from henceforth, and ran off with her books under her arm.
Barbara entered the room, and looked round for Miss Finlayson. Only the head girl was there, however, sitting at the table with a frown upon her face.
‘You ought to have been here before this,’ she began reprovingly. ‘Miss Finlayson couldn’t wait any longer, so I’ve got to miss the history lecture and examine you, instead of her. Why couldn’t you come, directly Jean told you?’
Barbara turned a little red and tried to look unconcerned, in which she signally failed. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘that you’d better ask Jean.’