"Sounds as though you'd got one, ducky," Gloria said.
"Oh, well, it's nothing," Flip creaked in a voice like a rusty hinge.
Nothing, she thought, nothing must keep her from going up to the chateau to see Paul.
Fortunately it was Sunday and breakfast was unsupervised; she might have escaped detection if it hadn't been for Madame Perceval. Madame Perceval was planning an art exhibit and, after chapel, she came into the Common Room and walked over to the corner where Flip sat, reading Anna Karenina.
"Philippa," she said as Flip scrambled clumsily to her feet.
"Yes, Madame?"
"I want to use two of your paintings in my exhibit and you haven't signed either of them. Come up to the Studio with me and do it now."
"Yes, Madame," Flip croaked.
"What on earth is the matter with your voice, child?"
"Oh, nothing, Madame, really. I'm just a little hoarse."