She slipped her arm through Frances Andrews’ and gave it a sympathetic squeeze.
“Won’t you show me the Cloisters?” she said. “I’m pining to see what they are like.”
“Come along,” said Frances, quite cheerfully, in spite of the fact that she had just been snubbed by three of her own classmates.
Lifting the latch of a small oak door fitted under a pointed arch, she led the way through a passage to another oak door which opened directly on the Cloisters. Molly gave an exclamation of pleasure.
“Oh,” she cried, “are we really allowed to walk in this wonderful place?”
“As much as you like before six P. M.,” answered Frances. “How do you do, Miss Pembroke?”
A tall woman with a grave, handsome face was waiting under the arched arcade to go through the door.
“So you decided to come back to us, Miss Andrews. I’m very glad of it. Come into my office a moment. I want a few words with you before supper.”
“You can find your way back to Queen’s by yourself, can’t you, Miss Brown?” asked Frances. “I’ll see you later.”
And in another moment, Molly Brown was quite alone in the Cloisters. She was glad to be alone. She wanted to think. She paced slowly along the cloistered walk, each stone arch of which framed a picture of the grassy court with an Italian fountain in the center.