She was a beauty; big, starry grey eyes; lovely, light brown hair which curled all over her head in little rings, like a baby’s; and a figure as slight and lithe as a boy’s.
“The newcomer in our midst,” concluded Anne, putting her arm around Patricia, “is Patricia Randall, formerly of Brentwood, now a member of the illustrious Sophomore class of Granard; and, what’s more, an inmate of Arnold Hall.”
“Good for you!” ejaculated Hazel, patting Patricia on the back, while the other two girls shot surprised, inquiring glances at Anne, who pretended not to see them.
“Why don’t we go on up?” drawled Lucile, opening her mouth for the first time.
“Going to wait for Patricia’s bag,” replied Anne quickly.
“Oh,” was Lucile’s brief response; but some way there was an unpleasant note in it, which made Patricia flush uncomfortably.
“There’s no need of my detaining you all,” she said. “I can wait by myself.”
“Now, darling,” protested Anne, “we’d never be so unhospitable to a new member of our household as that. You needn’t wait if you prefer not to, Lu.”
Without another word, Lucile picked up her bag and started haughtily up the steep hill.
“What’s the matter with her?” asked Anne, watching the blue-coated figure ascending the slope as rapidly as possible.