, after all. And she doesn't make so much conversation about
things as Miss Ardsley does."

A picture of the fastidious, affable Directress rose clearly before her
and she saw what a contrast to little efficient "Tattie," as the girls
called the sturdy little house-keeper behind her back, Miss Ardsley would
make at a sick-bed.

"I suppose I'll have to go straight down to the office," she said aloud,
as she went out into the hall. "Oh, dear, I hope she isn't going to be
ill."

Constance Fellows was at her door, unseen by Patricia, and she caught
the distressed words. As Patricia hurriedly started for the stair she
called to her.

"Is the fair Rosamond under the weather again?" she asked lightly.

Patricia turned, indignant at her levity in the face of trouble.

"Rosamond is in a stupor and I can't wake her up. I'm going for Miss
Ardsley," she said shortly.

Then Constance dropped her bantering tone and, closing her own door,
came over to Patricia. "Let me see her before you call out the
authorities," she said earnestly. "She may not be seriously ill, and if
they once get hold of her they'll keep her in quarantine for weeks after
she's all over it."

Patricia remembered Rosamond saying something much to this effect, and
she agreed eagerly.

"I'll go in first and see if she's waked up," she said on the threshold
of Rosamond's room.

Rosamond was lying in the same position as she had been and was as
unresponsive to efforts to rouse her as before. Patricia beckoned
Constance into the room.

"I'm afraid she's very ill," she whispered, as Constance came to the
bedside, and she waited in great suspense for what should come next.

Constance felt Rosamond's head and listened to her heart in quite a
professional manner. Then she disappeared for a moment and came back
with a thermometer and an alcohol bottle.

"Get some hot water ready for me," she said in a business-like way that
won Patricia's confidence. "I think it's an attack of the grippe, but
I'm not sure yet."

When Patricia came back with the steaming pitcher, she had finished her
investigations. "It's grippe, all right," she said, contentedly. "I know
the symptoms without being told a word. I've had it every year since it
became the fashion, drat it! We'll have to get the doctor, of course,
but I think she can be made more comfortable in the meanwhile."

"Shall I tell Miss Ardsley before I phone to the doctor?" Patricia asked
anxiously.

Constance sh