Some were full of young mischief, chafing impatiently at the fetters of school routine.

They were bubbling over with innocent animal life; they were longing to be afield at golf or tennis.

They hated their books.
Some were frankly coquettish and self-conscious, but in a most healthy and normal fashion.

These frequently adjusted stray locks of hair, felt of their belts at their backs to be sure that the fastenings were intact, then straightened themselves with charming little feminine motions.

Their flowerlike faces frequently turned towards the teacher, and there was in them a perfect consciousness of the facts of sex and charm, but it was a most innocent, even childlike consciousness.
The last type belonged to those intent upon their books, soberly adjusted to the duties of life already, with little imagination or emotion.