"You've got two hours. You can cut your classes and review it up."
"Two hours!" said Patty, sadly. "I need two days. I've never learned it, I tell you. The Anglo-Saxon grammar is a thing no mortal can carry in his head, and I thought I might as well wait and learn it before examinations."
"I don't wish to appear unfeeling," laughed Cathy, "but I should say, my dear, that it serves you right."
"Oh, I dare say," said Patty. "You are as bad as Priscilla"; and she trailed gloomily homeward.
She found her friends reviewing biology and eating olives. "Have one?" asked Lucille Carter, who, provided with a hat-pin by way of fork, was presiding over the bottle for the moment.
"No, thanks," returned Patty, in the tone of one who has exhausted life and longs for death.
"What's the matter?" inquired Priscilla. "You don't mean to say that woman has given you another special topic?"
"Worse than that!" and Patty laid bare the tragedy.
A sympathetic silence followed; they realized that while she was, perhaps, not strictly deserving of sympathy, still her impending fate was of the kind that might overtake any one.
"You know, Pris," said Patty, miserably, "that I simply can't pass."