“Julia Kean, what are you doing?” cried Molly in a stern voice.
Judy gave her a constrained nod.
“Don’t bother me now. There’s a dear. I’m in a dreadful hurry.”
Molly shook her violently by the shoulder. She had a feeling that Judy was asleep and must be waked up.
“Get up from there this minute and answer my question,” she commanded.
“What was your question?” asked Judy with an embarrassed little laugh. “Oh, yes, you asked what I was doing. I should think you could see I wasn’t gathering cowslips on the campus.”
“Are you running away, Judy?” asked Molly, trying another tack.
“Yes, my Mariucci,” cried Judy, quoting a popular song, “‘I’m gona packa my trunk and taka my monk and sail for sunny It.’”
Molly refused even to smile at this witticism.
“I know what you’re doing,” she exclaimed. “You are running away from examinations. You’re a coward. You are no better than a deserter from the army in time of war. It’s bad enough in time of peace, but just before the battle—I’m so ashamed and disappointed in you that I can hardly understand how I ever could have loved you so much.”