Dinner at Ambler House was the next thing on Mrs. Moore’s program, and she listened to that roar of conversation and laughter that always began as soon as grace had been said in the dormitory dining-rooms.
Fifty-four girls, all talking and joking at once, and yet one never heard a loud voice.
“They are nice girls,” thought Mrs. Moore.
After dinner it had been planned that Lilian should have her mother alone until theater time, when they were all going to a musical comedy which happened to be in town that night, direct from New York.
But Mrs. Moore, who noticed that Peggy was already dressed for the theater, asked her quietly to come also.
“It’s about your friend; I hoped I’d have a word with you,” little Mrs. Moore began when she and her daughter and Peggy were comfortably propped against the cushions.
“Myra?” asked Peggy, doubtfully, for she was the only person who might possibly occasion the sad and foreboding expression in the older woman’s eyes.
“Myra!” echoed Mrs. Moore in astonishment, fingering the violets at her waist, which had been revived for wear to the play. “Myra! No, indeed. No, it was Gloria Hazeltine I was troubling over.”
Peggy laughed. “Oh, it would be very foolish troubling over her,” she said; “she’s freshman president, you know——”
“Yes, I know.”