“Nor I,” chimed in Helen, who prided herself on knowing everybody that no one else knew. “Which class is she?”
Mary shook her head. “I haven’t the least idea.”
Madeline was sitting on the couch between Roberta and Betty. At a violent nudge from Roberta she came out of a brown study and entered the conversation. “What did you say, Mary?” she asked.
Mary repeated her question.
“Oh, I know her,” said Madeline, with a fine assumption of indifference. “She’s a freshman, I believe.”
“Yes, she is,” chimed in Roberta, following Madeline’s lead. “I remember the name now.”
“But doesn’t she take some upper-class work, Roberta?” asked Madeline, elaborately avoiding Roberta’s eye. “I’m sure she’s in something with me.”
“English Essayists, isn’t it?” suggested Roberta cautiously.
“Oh, no, it can’t be that,” objected Betty. “I’m in your division, and I know every girl in the class. I should have noticed her.”
“Perhaps she cuts a lot,” suggested Mary. “They say Dr. Eaton never calls the roll.”