"My dear Philippa, I am glad to hear from your father that at last you are getting along better at school. But I must admit that I am rather hurt that you choose to spend the holidays with some strange boy you have just met rather than with me. However, you have always been an odd child so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I do want to say, though, Philippa dear, that I know your poor father would be happier if you came to Nice, and I assure you that I would see that you had a pleasant vacation. As I said in my letter to you last week, there will be a number of charming young people nearby, and I am sure it would do you good to know them. Just remember that all you have to do if you change your mind is to let me know, and don't forget that you have your father's peace of mind to think of as well as your own choice. It is very hard on him to be laid up in the hospital, poor darling, and I shouldn't think you'd want in any way to add to his worries. I'm afraid this will make you angry, Philippa dear, but do remember that I'm just thinking of your best interests and that I'm very fond of you and devoted to your father. Affectionately, Eunice." Quivering with rage she tore the letter into as small pieces as possible. Madame Perceval, on duty behind the desk, finished distributing the mail and asked with a smile, "What's the cause of your fury, Flip?" "It's that Eunice again," Flip said. "A woman who's always after my father. She thinks I ought to spend the holidays with her and I'm afraid she'll try to convince father that I ought to, too. There isn't time for that, is there?" "No, Flip, there isn't. Anyhow, Mlle. Dragonet had a cable from your father this morning giving his permission for you to stay with Paul. She supplemented Georges' cable by one of her own saying that she thought it far better for you to stay with her nephew than for you to make the difficult trip to Nice. So I don't think you need worry." "Thank goodness," Flip said. "I think I'd die if I couldn't spend the holidays with Paul. I just wish Eunice hadn't written the letter and tried to spoil things for me." "Just forget it and enjoy yourself," Madame Perceval advised. "I will," Flip said, and she ran upstairs to throw the scraps of Eunice's letter in the classroom waste paper basket. Erna was there before her, sitting glumly at her desk. "What's the matter, Erna?" Flip asked shyly. "I can't spend the holidays with Jackie," Erna answered and put her head down on her arms. Flip perched awkwardly on her desk and put her feet on the chair. "Oh, Erna, why not?" "My mother wrote Mlle. Dragonet and said she wanted me home for Christmas. She doesn't want me home at all. She sent me away to school because she didn't want me home." "Oh, Erna," Flip said, her voice warm with sympathy.