“They’re all taking the tables they want and standing by the chairs,” whispered Betty.  “Let’s do that.”

A table set for eight was close to the door.  Betty, Bobby, Louise, Frances, Libbie, Constance, Norma and Alice gently surrounded this and stood quietly behind the chairs.

Some one, somewhere, gave a signal, and the roomful was seated as if by magic.

“I see—­those four tables over by the window are for the teachers,” whispered Betty.  “I see Miss Anderson and Miss Lacey, and that white-haired woman must be the principal.  Yes, and girls, there’s that woman whom the boys tormented so on the train!”

Sure enough, there she was, looking even more severe now that her hat was removed and her sharp features were unrelieved.

“If this isn’t fun!  I’m sorry for poor Esther at Miss Graham’s,” said Bobby, looking about her with delight.  “Mercy, what do you suppose this is?”

One of the young clerks from the office approached the table, a large cardboard sheet in her hand.

“I’m filling in the diagram,” she explained.  “You mustn’t change your seats without permission.  Tell me your names, and I’ll put you down in the right spaces.”

Betty looked over her shoulder as she wrote down their names.  Like the diagram of the seating space of a theatre, the tables and chairs were plainly marked.  Betty swiftly calculated that between one hundred and twenty-five and one hundred and fifty girls must be seated in the room.  Later she learned that the total enrollment was one hundred and sixty.

Just outside the dining room was a large bulletin board, impossible to ignore or overlook.  When they came out from luncheon a notice was posted that Mrs. Eustice would address the school at two o’clock in the assembly hall in the main building.  It was now one-thirty.

“Let’s go look at the gym,” suggested Bobby.  “We have time.  Oh, how do you do?”—­this last was apparently jerked out of her.

“I didn’t know you were coming to Shadyside, Bobby,” said Ruth Gladys Royal effusively.  “Do you know my chum, Ada Nansen?  She’s from San Francisco.”

“Constance Howard is from the West, too—­the Presidio,” said Bobby.

Gracefully she introduced the others to Ada and Ruth who surveyed them indifferently.  The Littell girls they knew were wealthy and had a place in Washington society, but the rest were not yet classified.

“Haven’t I seen you before?” Ada languidly questioned Betty.  “You’re not the little waitress—­Oh, how stupid of me!  I was thinking of a girl who looked enough like you to be your sister.”

Bobby bristled indignantly, but Betty struggled with laughter.

“I remember you,” she said clearly.  “You had the wrong seat on the train from Oklahoma.”

Ada Nansen glanced at her with positive dislike.

“I don’t recall,” she said icily.  “However, I’ve traveled so much I daresay many incidents slip my mind.  Well, Gladys, let’s go in and get good seats.  I want to hear Mrs. Eustice; they say she is a direct descendant of Richard Carvel.”