“You’re killing, fine old Isabel!” and Cathalina gave her a little squeeze. “Isabel’s the stuff heroines are made of. We’ll line you up with Eloise. And you’ll be going to Congress yourself, you’re such a fine little debater—though, of course, women will never go there.” For in those days, so it seemed.
“Goodbye; we must positively get to work,” said Pauline.
“Me, too,” said Juliet.
“One more piece of fudge around, girls,” said Isabel. “You can’t leave all that for just us to finish.” The departing girls took a last piece between thumb and finger as they yielded to Isabel’s coaxing tones and the appearance of the plate of soft brown squares. The Psyche Club had been having a meeting in the Isabel-Virgie-Avalon-Olivia suite.
“Did you get the mail I put on your dresser, Virgie?” asked Olivia.
“No. I forgot to look,” replied Virginia, disappearing into the bedroom, while the other girls got out their books and started on their lessons just as the study bell rang.
“Put down a credit mark for us this time,” said Isabel. “For once we are already at it when the bell rings.”
“Don’t talk as if we never studied, Miss Hunt. Many’s the time outside of study hours that this poor old brain has been busy!”
“Poor Olivia!”
Half an hour later, Isabel woke up to the fact that Virgie had not returned to the study room, but she looked toward the bedroom door, where all was quiet, and resumed her study. Another half hour went by. Isabel thought of Virgie again, and noticed that her books were on the table.