“What about Clarice, Ruthie?” asked Anne curiously, after Ruth had silently shaken hands with Patricia.
“She’s moving down here to No. 4,” replied Ruth quietly.
“Good night!” ejaculated Hazel, sitting down violently upon one of the trunks which lined the hall.
“Oh, boy! Oh, boy!” exclaimed Jane dramatically.
“Down here!” repeated Anne. “How come? Don’t know whether or not I fancy her for an opposite neighbor.”
“Nobody knows why she’s been moved,” contributed Frances excitedly. “She went to her old room as a matter of course when she came this morning, and then we found her card had No. 4 on it.”
“I think that’s just fierce!” cried Hazel. “She’s so noisy and notorious—”
“Now, Hazel,” protested Jane, “there’s nothing really bad about Clarice. She got herself talked about last year, it is true, but—”
“Maybe the Powers-that-Be think we’ll reform her,” suggested a gentle voice behind the group.
Everybody turned to face a fair, plump girl with braids of honey-colored hair wound around her shapely head, despite the prevailing fashion of short locks.