The other girls were earlier than was customary, there was much laughing and chatting as desks were dusted, and inkwells filled for the day. Susan, watching soberly from her corner, saw that Miss Cottle was wearing her best hat, that Miss Murray had on the silk gown she usually saved for Saturdays, that Thorny's hair was unusually crimped and puffed, and that the Kirks were wearing coquettish black silk aprons, with pink and blue bows. Susan's face began to burn. Her hand unobtrusively stole to her heliotrope, which fell, a moment later, a crushed little fragrant lump, into her waste-basket. Presently she went into the coat closet.
"Remind me to take these to the French Laundry at noon," said Susan, pausing before Thorny's desk, on her way back to her own, with a tight roll of linen in her hand. "I left 'em on my coat from yesterday. They're filthy."
"Sure, but why don't you do 'em yourself, Susan, and save your two bits?"
"Well, maybe I will. I usually do." Susan yawned.
"Still sleepy?"
"Dying for sleep. I went with my cousin to St. Mary's last night, to hear that Mission priest. He's a wonder."
"Not for me! I've not been inside a church for years. I had my friend last night. Say, Susan, has he come?"
"Has who come?"
"Oh, you go to, Susan! Young Coleman."
"Oh, sure!" Susan's eyes brightened intelligently. "That's so, he was coming down to-day, wasn't he?"