“Yes, she was certainly a lucky choice for president,” agreed Peggy.
“Your choice.”
“Well, my choice first and the class’s afterwards, and I’m sure we’re both proud of our good taste.”
The radiant one was again holding up an article of apparel before their interested gaze.
“Now, this,” she began her advertisement, “is all of handmade lace——”
An imperative knock sounded on the door.
Every girl in the room started nervously. For auctions, while not against any college regulation, were not exactly the sort of thing that would meet with a matron’s approval when indulged in to the wholesale extent of this one at Weldon House.
Perhaps that puzzled and anxious matron they had seen downstairs had followed the directions on the sign and was even now upon the threshold. How annoying, when there were many delectable and unsold articles still lying negligently over the chair backs.
“Well,” cried Gloria, in the midst of her harangue, “come in.”
But the door opened only a crack and a muffled voice came through it.