Polly’s low, rippling laugh was smothered by a judicious toss of a sofa pillow from Sue.
“Be quiet, goosie, or you’ll have everybody rushing up here to see what’s the matter. Put the pillow case over the chafing-dish so it won’t be seen, and tell us what happened. Why did you tell us all to come up here?”
Polly seated herself on the arm of the nearest chair, and pushed back her hair from her forehead with a gesture exactly like the Admiral’s.
“Ladies, and sisters, and dear colleagues,” she began, in imitation of Miss Calvert’s Commencement Day rhetoric.
“Don’t speechify, Polly,” ordered Ruth, cheerfully. “Hurry up. It’s getting late.”
But Polly went serenely on her own way, which was characteristic of her.
“We stand at the parting of the ways, don’t we? The last year at dear, precious old Honoria’s is over for Ruth and Kate. No more will we six use the historic chafing-dish, no more battle with the twenty-eight strangers who have lingered within our gates.” She turned her head, and smiled at Ted and Sue. “Am I on the right thread of discourse, sisters? Does it sound like oratory?”
“Oh, bozzer,” said Sue, helplessly. “Play ball, Polly, please, please, play ball.”
“I’ll be good, and stop,” Polly retorted, laughing. “Listen. All the rest of the girls, excepting us, are going away on vacations. Real ones, I mean. And for the next two months, what are we going to do?”
“Nothing but rest,” Sue said, dismally.