"Somehow, I haven't felt exactly hot-airy since I've been there. It makes me feel more steamy; as though I'd blow up sometimes. It seems so sort of--of--oh, I don't know just how to tell you. I'd _like_ to like Miss Woodhull but she'd freeze a polar bear, and I believe she just hates girls even though she keeps a girl's school. And Miss Stetson must have been fed on vinegar when she was a baby, and Miss Baylis is the _limit_, and Miss Forsdyke lives in Rome." "Is anybody just right?" asked the Admiral, quizzically. "Some of them would be all right if they had half a chance or dared. Mrs. Bonnel is a dear. Miss Dalton's lovely, but has no chance to prove it. Miss Powell is the most loveable girl you ever knew and the little kindergarteners adore her. Miss Forsdyke would be lovely if she wasn't scared to death of Miss Woodhull and Miss Atwell would be sort of nice if she wasn't so silly. Oh, Uncle Athol if you only _could_ see her pose and make us do stunts! And she's just like a jelly fish; all floppy and tumble-a-party. I feel just exactly as though I hadn't a bone in my body after two hours flopping 'round under her instructions." "What in thunder do they waste time on such nonsense for?" blurted out the Admiral. "To make us supple and graceful. Am I stiff, Uncle Athol? I've always felt ten times more supple after a rattling good gallop with Ath and Archie, or half a dozen games of tennis, than after I've turned and twisted myself into bowline-knots with Miss Atwell. Oh, _how_ I miss the old good times, Uncle Athol! Why can't Ath come to see me or I go to see him sometimes? If they'd only let me I'd never think of running away as I did that day." "Good Lord how can I tell the workings of an old maid's mind?" exploded Admiral Seldon. "It's too big a question for me to answer. I've always had an idea that it was a good thing for boys and girls to grow up together, and so has your mother, I reckon, or she'd never have allowed you to romp 'round with Athol and Archie as long as you have. And I can't for the life of me see that you're any the worse for it. But maybe that's just exactly the difference between an old maid's and an old bach's viewpoint. Can't you wheedle her as you wheedle _me_. Seems to me if you went at it like this you might make her believe that the port and starboard lights were black and white instead of red and green. Try it." "_Cuddle_ Miss Woodhull! Uncle Athol would _you_ like to cuddle Miss Woodhull?" demanded Beverly tragically. "God bless my soul, No! I'd as soon cuddle that statue of Diana yonder on the lawn." "So would _I_," was the prompt reply. "I reckon I'd rather. She isn't half so cold. Wheedle? Hum. Wouldn't it be funny if I could? I'll think about it. But if she were as cuddable as you it would be--de-li-cious," she ended with a bear hug. "Here's Queen to announce tea. Come along you artful huzzy. I never have an atom of justice or logic in me when I talk to you."