"You'll get into them again mighty quick if she hears," she whispered. "Don't be a fool."
"She!" Amy turned to stare. "Well, if you're not in from the backwoods! You don't mean to say you haven't heard that the Holy Terror is gone?"
"Gone? You mean—"
"I mean g-o-n-e, gone—cleared out, skipped, skedaddled. Can't you understand plain English? I thought everybody knew. She left a week ago to be married."
"Married!"
"Ain't it the limit? Fancy that with a husband!"
Jean tried, but failed. Stupendous as it was, this marvel paled in interest beside the fact that Cottage No. 6 had lost its martinet. Small wonder the house beamed.
"And the new matron is different?" she said.
"Different! Dif—" Amy became incoherent with amusement. "Say, but you folks in the jug have been exclusive since the riot! You shouldn't be, really you shouldn't. You miss so many things, you know. There was the Astor ball, and the Vanderbilt dinner, and the swellest little supper at Sherry's I've gone to this seas—"
All Amy's members were pinchable. Jean nipped the nearest.