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Betsy laughed. “Silly?” she repeated with rising inflection, “She’s worse than that. She’s bugs! Or rather, she was. I sort of think she’s cured. Time alone will tell.”

“Sally is always in love or thinks she is, which is perfectly ridiculous,” Margaret explained, “since she is only fifteen.”

“I’ve sometimes thought that if Sally had had brothers, as we have, she wouldn’t have had such foolish notions,” Barbara remarked. “You have the floor now, Betsy, tell the girls the woeful tale of Sally’s downfall.”

“Well, to begin at the beginning, Miss Snoopins, otherwise known as the Belligerent Buell, is death on members of the sex not fair.”

“Meaning boys,” Barbara put in.

“One of the rules that she made for the corridors was that no photographs of the objectionable creatures should be displayed in our rooms. Well, as usual, Sally was being sentimental about somebody, and the somebody was certainly a most good-looking boy. She called him ‘Donald Dear’ and raved about him whenever she could find anyone to listen.