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"We'll be here," promised Madalon, following her sister's example. "We'll have to miss lunch and the Senior dance, but what's a mere dance compared to helping a neighbor say farewell to their happy little home. Look for us at twelve-thirty sharp and prepare an extra mess of pottage, for we'll both be fearfully hungry. Tell David and Tom Hughes we'll come in on the same train they do. Good-bye, be good till Saturday and then we'll all be happy.", Elinor blushed and laughed. "I can't, usually," she said, gayly. "It is the Victory that did it. She must have handed down some of the thoughts of the old Greek that carved her out of the white marble under that blue, blue sky of ancient days.", Elinor hesitated. "I don't know," she replied slowly, measuring her words. "I can't put my finger on it, but she doesn't seem the same to me as she did at first. She isn't jealous of my poor work, of course, but I can feel a something—a wall or barrier—that she raises up between us whenever my work is spoken of. I felt it when we talked about the subject of the prize designs, and I felt it today more clearly than ever. We can't be friends any more as we were, I'm afraid. Something has come between us. 'The little rift within the lute,'" she quoted sorrowfully..