“‘The primrose by a river’s brim,
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more.’”
quoted Mary blithely. “You can never put that on my tombstone.”
“Better tell your friend Dr. Hinsdale about your vivid ornithological imagination,” suggested Katherine. “It might interest him.”
“Oh, I shall,” said Mary easily. “But to-night, young ladies, you will be pleased to learn that I am invited up to Professor Lawrence’s to dinner, so that I can see his bird skins. Incidentally I shall meet his fascinating brother. In about ten minutes I shall want to be hooked up, Roberta.”
“She’s one too many for us, isn’t she?” said Katherine, as Mary went gaily off, followed by the devoted Roberta, declaring in loud tones that the Mary-bird club was dissolved.
“I wish things that go wrong didn’t bother me any more than they do her,” said Betty wistfully.
“Cheer up,” urged Katherine, giving her a bearish hug. “You’ll win in the golf again to-morrow, and everything will come out all right in the end.”
“Everything? What do you mean?” inquired Betty sharply.
“Why, singles and doubles–twosomes and foursomes you call them, don’t you? They’ll all come out right.”
A moment later Katherine burst in upon her long-suffering roommate with a vehemence that made every cup on the tea-table rattle. “I almost let her know what we thought,” she said, “but I guess I smoothed it over. Do you suppose Eleanor Watson isn’t going to make up with her at all?”