"I'm not meek," flared Anne, whose usually sweet temper had been somewhat ruffled in her efforts to wake Judy. "But Launcelot is a very sensible boy."
"Oh, sensible," groaned Judy. "I hate sensible people."
"What kind of people do you like?" demanded Anne, indignantly.
"Unsensible ones?"
"Yes. Dashing people and lively people and funny people—and—and—romantic people—but sensible people, oh, dear," and she buried her head again in the pillow.
"Judy, get up."
"I'll be ready in time."
"No, you won't. And breakfast is ready. Judy, get up."
A gentle snore was the only answer.
"Oh," and Anne flung herself out of the room, "if you are late, Judy
Jameson, I can't help it."
She went down-stairs and ate her breakfast. But no sign of Judy.