The dressing-bell rang for Sunday morning service, and Patty laid down
her book with a sigh and went and stood by the open window. The outside
world was a shimmering green and yellow, the trees showed a feathery
fringe against the sky, and the breeze was redolent of violets and fresh
earth.
"Patty," called Priscilla, from her bedroom, "you'll have to hurry if
you want me to fasten your dress. I have to go to choir rehearsal."
Patty turned back with another sigh, and began slowly unhooking her
collar. Then she sat down on the edge of the couch and stared absently
out of the window.
A vigorous banging of bureau drawers in Priscilla's room was presently
followed by Priscilla herself in the doorway. She surveyed her room-mate
suspiciously. "Why aren't you dressing?" she demanded.
"I'll fasten my own dress; you needn't wait," said Patty, without
removing her eyes from the window.
"Bishop Copeley's going to preach to-day, and he's such an old dear; you
mustn't be late."
Patty elevated her chin a trifle and shrugged her shoulders.
"Aren't you going to chapel?"
Patty brought her gaze back from the window and looked up at Priscilla
beseechingly. "It's such a lovely day," she pleaded, "and I'd so much
rather spend the time out of doors; I'm sure it would be a lot better
for my spiritual welfare."
"It's not a question of spiritual welfare; it's a question of cuts.
You've already over-cut twice. What excuse do you intend to give when
the Self-Government Committee asks for an explanation?"
"'Sufficient unto the day,'" laughed Patty. "When the time comes I'll
think of a beautiful new excuse that will charm the committee."
"You ought to be ashamed to evade the rules the way you do."
"Where is the fun of living if you are going to make yourself a slave to
all sorts of petty rules?" asked Patty, wearily.
"I don't know why you have a right to live outside of rules any more
than the rest of us."