There was a silence, and Molly, feeling that she was about to be mortified again by something disagreeable, cried hastily:
“Oh, dear, I forgot the surprise. Do wait a moment,” and dashed from the room.
While she was gone, Nance and Judy began filling up the intervals with odd bits of conversation, helped out by the other girls, and Frances Andrews did not have another opportunity to put in her oar. Suddenly she rose and swept to the door.
“You would none of you feel interested to know, I suppose, that Mary Stewart’s father started life as a bootblack——”
“That’s what I’m starting life as,” cried Molly, who now appeared carrying a large tray covered with a napkin. “I am the official bootblack of Queen’s, and I make sometimes one-fifty a week at it. I hope I’ll do as well as Mr. Stewart in the business. Have a popover?”
She unfolded the napkin and behold a pile of golden muffins steaming hot. There were wild cries of joy from the kimonoed company.
“And now, Jessie, I’ll take my second-hand, roundabout compliment——” she began, when Judy interrupted her.
“Won’t you have a popover, Miss Andrews?” she asked in a cold, exasperated tone.
“Thanks; I eat the European breakfast usually—coffee and roll——”
“Yes, I’ve been there,” answered Judy.