“Yes, Bess Shepard has them for sure, and Elinor Brooks has a sore throat.”
“Then she’s probably just starting out.”
“My room-mate is awfully cross without any reason.” This from Vivian.
“Look behind her ears. Probably there are specks and lumps, too.”
“Are you all over speckles, Jean?”
“Pretty much so!”
The patient appeared to listen, drawing herself farther into the room. All at once she waved a corner of her red bath-robe, a signal of danger, and slunk back toward the couch. The six sympathizers with one accord withdrew to the other side of the lilac bushes. They heard the closet door open and close, after something had been hurriedly placed therein, then foot-steps, and a peremptory rap on Jean’s door. Then Jean’s voice, pathetically lowered,
“Come in.”
The door opened.
“Jeannette,” said a voice, which they behind the lilac trees recognized as Miss Wood’s. “Jeannette, don’t you feel the draught from that open window?”