the
first glimpse of Miss Summers in tears.

"She's gone," cried Miss Summers, "Poor soul, she's gone. And what will
happen to us I don't know."

"_We'll_ be all right," Sally murmured, with singular confidence. A
shock had slightly discomposed her, but it was not a shock of sorrow for
the death of Madame Gala. Rather was it a passing thrill of dismay at
her own responsibility, which her reassuring speech had been intended to
remove.

"She's dead.... Madam's dead...." ran through the workroom. One girl
hurried to tell Miss Rapson and the workers in her department, who came
crowding immediately into the room, agog with excitement. They all
gathered together in a body, and then in detached groups, talking fast.

"I s'pose we'll all have a day off for the funeral," somebody said with
a giggle.

"Oo, yes. Sure to. And have to wear mourning," added another girl, more
solemnly and hopefully.

Sally stood, as if by right, with Miss Summers and Miss Rapson. She was
definitely a principal figure in the scene. Just as the other girls
began to notice this, and murmuringly to comment upon it as a piece of
characteristic impudence, Miss Summers had a quick return of memory.
Gesticulating with helpless impatience, she said:

"Oh, Sally; I'd quite forgotten. Mr. Bertram _is_ ill. And the nurse
said he was asking to see you. Yes, asking to see ... Miss Minto."

Asking to see Sally Minto! There was a thrill among the girls that was
even greater than the one which they had felt at the news of Madam's
death. Gaga asking to see Sally Minto! Whew! Everything became electric.
Rose Anstey coloured deeply, and turned upon her heel. Sally knew they
were all staring at her, like fish in an aquarium. With something
approaching dignity she ignored them and directly addressed Miss
Summers.

"Did you mean he wanted me to go at once?" she asked.

"Yes, child. Yes. At once. Better run along now...." Miss Summers was
distracted, tearful, inclined to kiss Sally, and altogether without
knowledge of what she was doing or what she ought to do. "Wait.... Tell
him--perhaps I ought to write a letter? Oh, dear! I don't know...." She
pressed her fingers to her temples. "No, tell him how sorry we all are.
Say if he wants _me_.... Run along, run along!"

"Yes, Miss Summers."

In a very leisurely manner, Sally rolled up her pinafore and put her
work away. Then she washed and dressed herself to go out. She walked
back through the workroom like a que