“And Roy thinks it’s me,” said Grace, her own grammar suffering from excitement.  “Goodness! does he think the poor boy is after all of us?”

“Thinks he’s going to start a harem, maybe,” cried Mollie hysterically.  “Oh, dear, isn’t it too ridiculous?”

“I suppose,” said Amy thoughtfully, “it’s because Sergeant Mullins is so awfully good-looking.”

“And, of course, he does come around a good deal,” added Mollie.

“I know.  But that’s because he’s so lonesome,” put in Betty.  “And, of course, we have all tried to be nice to him.  I think it’s horrid,” she added, flaring up, “for the boys to act so ridiculously just because he happens to be good-looking and awfully attractive!”

“Oh, Betty, Betty,” chided Mollie, wiping a tear—­this time of merriment—­from her eyes.  “If Allen could only hear you now!”

“Nonsense!” retorted Betty, almost snappishly.  “There are dozens of boys who come here to tell us their troubles, and I don’t see why they have to—­”

“Pick on him,” finished Grace.  “Only you must remember,” she added with a twinkle, “that he is much more attractive than most—­”

“And he never tells us any troubles either,” added Mollie, with a chuckle.  “Maybe the boys think that’s suspicious.”

“Well,” said Amy, with a sigh, “I seem to be the only one left out.  Nobody thinks it’s worth while to quarrel romantically about me.”

The girls laughed, and Grace added with a grimace: 

“Goodness, you needn’t feel bad about it.  It was just your luck that you didn’t meet Will this morning and tell him the awful news, that’s all.  I suppose he’d have acted as silly as the rest of them.”

“Maybe it’s a plant anyway,” suggested Mollie dolefully.

“A plant?” queried Betty.  “What kind—­a flower or a T.N.T. factory?”

“A plot was what I meant,” explained Mollie patiently, while the others chuckled.

“A plot!” repeated Grace, with a return of her drawl.  “Heavens, Mollie, if there is anything in signs you ought to be a great author some day from the way you’re always seeing a plot in everything.”

“Thank you, I hope so,” said Mollie.

“Well, for goodness’ sake get to the point,” urged Grace impatiently, glancing at the clock.  “We’ll have to dress pretty soon, to go down to serve the regular afternoon tea to the soldier boys and their friends.”

“Oh, it just occurred to me,” Mollie explained, “that perhaps the boys had met some girls in town they liked better than they like us and had gotten up a conspiracy—­to—­to—­quarrel with us—­”

“What a brilliant idea!” scoffed Grace.  “Especially as the boys have been following us around like Mary’s little lamb, and have scared all the other boys away.”

“And without being conceited at all,” added Amy, with a chuckle, “the girls I’ve seen around the town really aren’t calculated to steal their hearts away.”