“Nonsense,” snapped Myra Whitewell, who had not forgotten that one of the room-mates had been largely instrumental in electing her opponent at elections the day before. “This is a fault party that we’re going to have to-night, in Hazel’s room. Just freshmen, except Hazel. You two must be sure to come.”
“A fault party?”
“Yes, every house ought to have one. Hazel says this house did last year. Each person tells the others their faults, you know, and then we can improve. Everybody is very frank and it really is good for you to know.”
Myra glanced somewhat bitterly at the inattentive form of Peggy, and Katherine hastily turned a little surprised laugh into a sneeze.
“Oh, so she wants to tell Peggy her faults,” mused Katherine. “Peggy of all people! Why, she hasn’t any.”
“I don’t want to come,” a muffled voice came from the erstwhile sleeper. “It hurts people’s feelings.”
“It shouldn’t,” interposed Myra sharply. “If it does, that’s a fault, and somebody can bring up that. Everybody ought to be glad to know what’s the matter with them. Why, the idea!” she burst out, “there isn’t one of us who hasn’t seen something to correct in the others, and instead of just keeping it to ourselves and being hypocrites, isn’t it a thousand times better to tell the person right out?”
“I don’t think the person would like that,” the muffled voice protested.
“Well, all the freshmen must come,” Myra persisted. “Come at nine-thirty to-night, in case we don’t have another chance to tell you.”
“That’s a funny thing,” said Peggy, rubbing her eyes when the two had gone. “Do you know any faults of any of the girls, Katherine? I don’t. Let’s see, there are eight freshmen in this house altogether,—and Hazel taking part makes nine. Why, Katherine, I think we have wonderful people here.”