“I said,” replied Elinor, “that, representing the class, I wanted to thank her for the splendid mental training she had given us last winter, and we wished to show our appreciation by giving her a little remembrance.”
“‘Remembrance’ was a good word, Elinor,” cried Billie.
“If she hadn’t been so pleased and made that speech of thanks, it wouldn’t have mattered so much,” put in Mary. “But I was ashamed when she untied the ribbons on the box——”
“And what was in it, child?” demanded Miss Campbell.
“Dates,” cried Billie, “dozens of dates packed in as tightly as dates can be packed, just as she had been packing them into our brains for nine months.”
“Oh! oh!” exclaimed Miss Campbell, trying to be shocked and laughing in spite of herself. “The poor soul! How embarrassed she must have felt. Was she very angry?”
“We couldn’t tell whether she was angry or hurt,” answered Elinor. “She drew herself up stiffer and straighter than usual if possible, and marched out of the room without a word.”
“And left us feeling very foolish indeed, cousin,” went on Billie. “But that isn’t all. Because I was the one who never could remember a date from one day to the next, I suppose she suspected me of having been the ring-leader and this morning when we stopped at the desk of the hotel for mail, the clerk handed me this letter. It was forwarded from West Haven.”
Billie drew an envelope from the pocket of her motor coat and gave it to the others.
“Read it,” she said. “I didn’t mention it before because I was so much interested in getting away and I had really forgotten it until the subject came up. I suppose Miss Hawkes is just a little queer in her upper story.”