across to the young doctor who ate at the table next to hers; and to the two white-haired old ladies who occasionally asked her of an evening to make a fourth at auction, "All ready for a game, any time," she had exclaimed.
She was still purring as she moved about the three rooms which were hers and Laurel's alone, humming in a low tone to herself, delighting in their luxury and their comfort, as she laid away her hat and veil and gloves, bag and umbrella, in their old familiar nooks and corners.
She sat down on the edge of her bed to open her mail. There was a postcard from Laurel. She read that first. There was a note from Miss Simpson, verifying the hour of Laurel's arrival. She read that next. After Miss Simpson's note there were two announcements of fall openings; a bill; a receipt; then suddenly occurred an explosion of one of the bombs! Miss Fillibrown regretted that, owing to the unexpected increase of pupils in Laurel's class, there would be no place for her next year!
Stella's low humming ceased abruptly. She read the note again. She read it a third time. She was aware of a certain familiar heart-burning sensation which usually followed announcements of this sort. No place for Laurel at Miss Fillibrown's? Oh, that was cruel. There was no other private school in Milhampton. Laurel couldn't go to a public school. Nobody did—except foreigners. No place for Laurel at Miss Fillibrown's! There must be some mistake. But deep in her heart Stella knew there was no mistake. Experience had taught her there never was a mistake in the cruel stabs dealt her.
