“So,” Katherine took up the story of the adventures that were to form Mrs. Moore’s great day, “you are to walk with me, please,—if you will, down Elm street and down West street a bit, and Green street, and then you will have seen all the part of town that belongs to college life that is outside Campus—invitation houses, undesirables and all. Then at eleven I shall turn you over to Peggy and Hazel Pilcher, at the campus gate, and they will show you through the new library and chapel and the Art building annex. That’s as far into the future as you are allowed to peep.”
“It sounds very alluring,” murmured Mrs. Moore, whose eyes were still bulging, from the sight of her staid and quiet Lilian pursuing and pounding the fair-haired Peggy.
The company of the girls was more to her than the sightseeing itself, and she found herself swept along by the gay hilarity of whoever happened to be her escort. She forgot that her hair was as grey as theirs was black or golden; she forgot that she had believed her time for gaiety was over.
In the big library she paused, hushed, before the sight of many graceful figures bending in silent absorption over the volumes that lay in their laps or before them on the massive tables. She could not guess, in her awe of such an intellectual atmosphere, that fully a third of these diligent readers were bowed over Arnold Bennett and Gilbert Parker, instead of the volumes of deep learning she fancied.
“I wonder if the matron will let me ask Mother to the House to lunch,” puzzled Lilian, a little later, when she met them, after the tour of the campus was complete. “I haven’t had time to ask her and there may not be a place.”
“There will be lots of places, but your mother and we won’t be there to fill them,” said Peggy quickly. “Gloria has invited us down to Boyd’s for a real party.”
“Beef steak and French fried potatoes—and peas?” cried Hazel. “A real one?”
“That’s just it,” said Peggy, slightly disappointed that her friend had been so quick to guess. “How did you know? I was the only one with Gloria when she telephoned the order.”
“How did I know!” scoffed Hazel, “as if anybody that knew what was best would dream of ordering anything else at Boyd’s.”
Boyd’s was the popular restaurant, where the girls trooped in to luncheon whenever the allowance from home seemed to justify such a luxury, where they sat on Saturday evenings, their white shoulders gleaming above the white silk, green chiffon and blue crêpe de Chine of their very best dresses.