Bridget's face turned very white. She looked wildly toward the door, then at the window.
"Cross-patch!" murmured Violet, turning her back on Janet. "Come, Marion; come, Pauline, we won't tell her any more. We'll tell you, Dolly, of course, but we won't tell Janet. Come, Marion, let's go.""If I had only some smelling salts," she began."Well, Marshall is unhappy about her," replied Dorothy. "She said that Bridget would not touch her dinner. I don't exactly know what Mrs. Freeman means to do about her, but the poor girl is a prisoner in Miss Patience's dull little sitting room for the present."
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"How can I possibly guess?"
The ages of these fifty girls ranged from seventeen to five, but from seventeen down to five on this special hot summer's evening one topic of conversation might have been heard on every tongue.Notwithstanding these various criticisms, the carriage with its occupants calmly pursued its way, and was presently lost to view in the courtyard at the side of the house.
Janet was forced to comply, and Dorothy exclaimed eagerly:Marshall departed, and Bridget lifted the cover from her plate and looked at the nice hot lamb and green peas.
"No, Bridget, you cannot. You have been sent here to be under my care, and you must remain with me at least until the end of the term."
"I loathe ladylike ways."