Maggie turned and looked at her.
“The auction? What auction do you mean?” she asked.
“Why, Polly Singleton’s, of course. You’ve not heard of it? It’s the event of the term!”
Maggie laughed.
“You must be talking nonsense, Rose,” she said. “An auction at St. Benet’s! A real auction? Impossible!”
“No, it’s not impossible. It’s true. Polly owes for a lot of things, and she’s going to pay for them in that way. Did you not get a notice? Polly declared she would send, one without fail to every girl in the college.”
“Now I remember,” said Miss Oliphant, laughing. “I got an extraordinary type-written production. I regarded it as a hoax, and consigned it to the waste-paper basket.”
“But it wasn’t a hoax; it was true. Come away, Miss Oliphant, do. Polly has got some lovely things.”
“I don’t think I even know who Polly is,” said Maggie. “She surely is not an inmate of Heath Hall?”
“No, no—of Katharine Hall. You must know her by sight, at least. A great, big, fat girl, with red hair and freckles.”