That was a better shot than Cathalina knew, for Dr. Carver was not particularly clear or helpful in explanation, but wonderfully pompous in making demands upon the class. By the time the class was dismissed its members were in various stages of nervous prostration, as one of the girls told it, but strange to say, Cathalina’s fear was gone.
When Hilary came into the suite before lunch, Cathalina was curled up on the bed working on algebra. “How did Cicero go?” she asked demurely.
“My! the dear doctor slaughtered ’em right and left. She’s a new variety, as the vegetable catalogues say. There’ll be great fun. I see you’re still alive.”
“Fun! I don’t like to be made angry. It keeps me from learning. I wish there were another class to somebody else! My other teachers are fine,—human!”
“Isn’t it funny that Miss Randolph has anybody like that? It’s hard enough to be a lady anyhow, without an example like that in the school room!”
“If the girls were disrespectful or anything there’d be some excuse. I never heard anybody talk like that.”
“Rap-rap-rap.”
“Come in,” called Hilary, running out to the sitting-room door. Half a dozen girls came in.
“Welcome, merry sunshine!” said Hilary with her best bow. “You look like a church committee. What does this mean?”
“Council of war,” answered Eloise, her eyes flashing. “Do you want to join?”