Hilary, who happened to be near, replied, “Her aunt is a friend of Miss Randolph’s.”
Cathalina just then joined Hilary and with a group of girls they wandered out to the porch seats.
“Does Miss Randolph teach anything?” inquired Hilary.
“No,” one of the older girls replied. “She did a year or so ago, but was too busy and gave it up. She taught History of Art and was a perfectly grand teacher, the girls say.”
“I’m scared to death every time she looks at me!” said Isabel Hunt, who perched on the balustrade and swung one nervous foot. “I wonder if my hair is frowzy or the button I sewed on my waist matches, or the one I didn’t sew on will be missed. I’m sure she can see clear through me!”
“Why how funny!” exclaimed Cathalina. “I never thought of it.”
“That is because you are always as neat as a pin.”
“I wish I ‘wuz,’” and Cathalina laughed as she thought of various hurried occasions when she had longed for Etta. “Hilary, I’m wrongfully accused! Come to the rescue!”
Hilary made big eyes and said in a stage whisper, “Never reveal it,—but Miss Buskirk was known to rush off to early class one morning with a great tear in her petticoat, pinned for a yard around,—more or less!”
“Fie, fie!” cried Isabel. “I feel better!”