She sighed as she dipped her pen in the ink again. That was all she had said, after writing nearly all the afternoon and evening. And she had so much more to say, and there was so little time left before prayers!
‘I have just seen the doctor who is a Beast and he isn’t a Beast,’ she had written laboriously on a fresh page, when Jean Murray stooped over her and shook her vigorously by the arm.
‘Oh, dear!’ sighed Babs, feeling in her pocket for the handkerchief that so rarely seemed to be in it. ‘There’s another blot, and I’m in such a hurry!’
‘It’s no use losing your temper about it,’ said Jean. ‘You’ve got to get up from the floor and fetch a desk, if you want to write letters.’
Barbara looked up in mild surprise. ‘But I’m not losing my temper! Are you sure you don’t mean you when you say me?’ she asked with a spice of mischief in her tone.
‘There!’ said Jean, turning triumphantly to the attendant Angela. ‘Didn’t I say she was only laughing at us? Now, look here,’ she continued, turning again to Babs, ‘you’ve got to remember that you’re the youngest in the school––’
‘Oh, don’t!’ interrupted Babs, putting up her hands to her ears. ‘You’ll begin about the head girl’s boots next.’
It was the most luckless thing she could have said, for it convinced Jean more than ever that the new girl was bent on making game of her most serious feelings.
‘I shall say anything I choose,’ she retorted hotly. ‘Get off the floor at once, will you? We don’t want ink spilt all over the place; this isn’t a nursery.’
‘Who’s spilling ink all over the place?’ asked Barbara, without moving. All the mischief that was in her rose uppermost when any one spoke to her like that.