And her sturdy little blue pencil crept mercilessly through word after word, while Peggy felt the blood pounding into her face and tried not to mind the kindly criticism of her effort.
Peggy was consulted tactfully about each change and asked for suggestions, until, under the skilful guidance of the more experienced writer, the fledgling really developed a verse that would not mar the Monthly pages. Then Ditto gave her a pen and some paper to write it all out again, in the copy that was actually to go to the printer.
Katherine talked to Ditto about her room-mate, while the latter was carefully rewriting her masterpiece.
“You know you’ve got good material for freshman president, there,” said Ditto with something of senior condescension. “An Andrews girl usually has it, and she’s the right type. She isn’t very self-conscious, she’s lots of fun and ready for anything. You can tell that. Why don’t you put her up? Your elections are this week, aren’t they? Honestly, I’ve heard of nothing but Peggy Parsons, Peggy Parsons, from all the freshmen protégées of the girls in this house.”
Katherine caught fire. “It would be great,” she said. “Think of rooming with the class president. Oh, I did a clever thing in bringing her to Hampton. I can shine in reflected glory through the whole four years.”
“You do it,” urged Ditto, “get her elected, I mean. I’ll help.”
She nodded carelessly toward the huge vase of roses. “I have quite a few little freshmen friends whom I’ll—tell about Peggy.”
When Peggy handed back the poem with a rueful smile at its many changes, Katherine got up from the couch and took her room-mate’s arm. It would never do to linger, though it was hard to leave the great Presence.
Peggy’s look as they left the house held simply pleasure and gratitude, but Katherine’s brimmed with meaning.
“You don’t know what I know,” she hummed.