Peggy and Katherine, after a light knock, advanced into the room and seated themselves on the inviting couch.
“A book-case and a dictionary,” murmured Peggy. “Such funny things to have at college.”
“But there’s a tea table, too,” reminded Katherine. “In fact, I never saw a room that had such a varied assortment of things—and all in harmony.”
“I like that leather peacock screen,” Peggy went on.
“Oh, I love it all—but don’t you think it’s the least bit oppressive? That incense smell lulls my senses to sleep. I don’t see how Ditto can be the fresh, breezy sort she is,—perfectly matter-of-fact and everydayish,—and live in an opium den of a room like this.”
“It isn’t just what her character would lead you to expect,” admitted Peggy.
Just then, a girl drifting aimlessly by in the hall paused at the door, and glanced in curiously at the two freshmen sitting so stiffly, toes out, hands clasped in their laps, awaiting the all-important Ditto.
“Dit know you’re here?” she asked, with friendly brevity.
Both girls shook their heads.
“I’ll get her,” said the other, disappearing, and an instant later they heard, up and down the hall, the loud cry, “Dit-to! Di-i-t Armandale! Somebody to see you!”