Madeline nodded absently, and everybody laughed at what Mary called the egotism of the literary instinct.
“Why, haven’t you ever caught Madeline squinting at you to see if you’ll do for a book?” demanded Mary, elaborating her point. “She relates everything, even friends, to her Literary Career. I wore my new suit to-day in the frantic hope that she’d like my looks well enough to put me into a play. I should simply adore seeing myself in a play,” sighed Mary.
“Well, you never will,” Madeline assured her blandly. “Not while you call me ‘my child,’ and patronize me instead of my tea-shop.”
Mary listened, wearing her beamish smile. “Egotism of the literary instinct again—she makes a personal matter out of everything. Now, if you’ve quite finished explaining your methods of literary work, suppose we return to the business of the meeting, which is——”
“Which seems to be your frivolous methods of securing the attention of the wise and great by wearing new clothes,” cut in Madeline promptly. “A very interesting subject, too, isn’t it, my children?”
Mary faced the challenger coldly. “The real business of the meeting,” she announced, “is the rescue of Betty Wales from the clutches of her too-numerous jobs, charities, helpful ideas, and noble ambitions, including that interesting but heavily conditioned freshman, Montana Marie O’Toole.”
“But I thought Georgia had been regularly ‘elected’ to look out for Betty,” suggested Christy Mason.
“Well, Georgia is only one,” explained Helen Chase Adams seriously, “and being a prominent senior keeps her fairly busy, I imagine. And then Betty doesn’t want to be rescued. It’s very hard to look out for a person that doesn’t want you to look out for him—her,” amended Helen hastily, with a vivid blush that instantly created another digression among the B. C. A.’s.
“I thought you didn’t like men, Helen Chase.”
“Who is he? Who is your protégé who objects to being looked after, Helen?”