“You certainly ought,” retorted Eleanor. “You’ve made me the laughing-stock of the whole college.”
“No, Eleanor,” broke in Kate Denise pacifically. “Truly, your dignity is intact, thanks to Miss Wales and those absurd B’s who followed her lead.”
“Never mind them. I’m talking about Betty Wales. She was a friend of mine–she was at the supper the other night. Why couldn’t she leave it to some one else to object to your appointing me?”
“Oh, if that’s all you care about,” said Jean irritably, “don’t blame Miss Wales. The thing had to be done you know. I didn’t see that it mattered who did it, and so I–well, I practically asked her. What I’m talking about is her way of going at it–her having pushed herself forward so, and really thrown us out of power by using what I–” Jean caught herself suddenly, remembering that Eleanor did not know about Betty’s having been let into the secret.
“By using what you told her,” finished Kate innocently. “Well, why did you tell her all about it, if you didn’t expect–”
Eleanor stood up suddenly, her face white with anger. “How dared you,” she challenged. “As if it wasn’t insulting enough to get me into a scrape like this, and give any one with two eyes a chance to see through your flimsy little excuses, but you have to go round telling people—”
“Eleanor, stop,” begged Jean. “She was the only one I told. I let it out quite by accident the day I came up here to see you. Not another soul knows it but Kate, and you told her yourself. You’d have told Betty Wales, too,–you know you would–if we hadn’t seen you first this afternoon.”
“Suppose I should,” Eleanor retorted hotly. “What I do is my own affair. Please go home.”
Jean stalked out in silence, but Kate, hesitating between Scylla and Charybdis, lingered to say consolingly, “Cheer up, Eleanor. When you come to think it over, it won’t seem so—”
“Please go home,” repeated Eleanor, and Kate hurried after her roommate.