"Oh, it's beastly!" they agreed.
"Lordy's to blame," said Conny. "The Dowager never would have separated us if she hadn't interfered."
"And I've got her!" wailed Patty. "You two have Mam'selle and Waddams, and they're nice, sweet, unsuspicious lambs; but the girls in the East Wing simply can't sneeze but Lordy—"
"Sh!" Conny warned. "Here she comes."
The Latin teacher, in passing, paused on the threshold. Conny disentangled herself from the mixture of clothes and books and sofa cushions that littered the bed, and politely rose to her feet. Patty slid down from the white iron foot-rail, and Priscilla descended from the top of the trunk.
"Ladies don't perch about on the furniture."
"No, Miss Lord," they murmured in unison, gazing back from three pairs of wide, uplifted eyes. They knew, from gleeful past experience, that nothing so annoyed her as smiling acquiescence.
Miss Lord's eyes critically studied the room. Patty was still in traveling dress.
"Put on your uniform, Patty, and finish unpacking. The trunks go down to-morrow morning."
"Yes, Miss Lord."