Miss Stuart, being a rather unapproachable person, had not heard of Georgia. So she called upon Dr. Eaton for an explanation, which he furnished in full detail. He knew now that Georgia did not exist, he said; but was it not his duty to give somebody credit for those extremely real and very clever papers which he had had the pleasure of examining? And Miss Stuart, who looked more unapproachable than she really was, smiled genially on all “The Merry Hearts” and congratulated Mary and Betty, whom she knew best, on having added to the gaiety of life at Harding.
“We’re all too serious and too self-centred here,” she said. “I like the idea of your club, and I can see that it has a real influence in the college. There is more good feeling and less snobbishness this year. And I haven’t forgotten the way you put through the Japanese tea.”
Whereat “The Merry Hearts” promptly invited Miss Stuart to be an honorary member too, and she accepted with an eager gratitude that made the astute Madeline stop to think.
“Betty,” she said solemnly, “do you know I believe Miss Stuart was truly pleased. I believe she’d like to get down off her pedestal oftener. I’ve always thought that quiet, self-contained, self-sufficient people like her were perfectly happy, but now I wonder if they are. That Miss Case in our class, for instance,—the one that has a suite of rooms up where Dora Carlson is, and spends her time buying and reading all the new books that come out. Do you suppose she’s ever lonely in that gorgeous library of hers?”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Betty. “You know her father and mother are both dead, and I can’t imagine how books and lovely things and all the money you want could make up to a girl for that.”
“Nor I,” said Madeline. “Next time I see her I’m going to ask her to come down and join us some Saturday evening—even if she is as rich as Crœsus and considered an awful snob.”
And Miss Case came once, and often after that, and confided to Madeline that she was always lonely and had longed to make friends with her class, but couldn’t seem to do it, because she was so shy and so afraid of intruding where she wasn’t wanted. And Madeline in her turn explained that the best way was to forget all about yourself and go ahead—a rule which in time Miss Case learned to put in practice.
Meanwhile the winter term was speeding to an end. Mid-years came and went, but they have few terrors for clear-headed juniors, who know by experience that the faculty are oftener kind than cruel, and who have become expert in arranging their work so as to get as many days of glorious freedom as possible at the end of the terrible mid-year week.
And then, just a month before the end of the term, came an eventful day, full of excitement for Betty Wales and the rest of “The Merry Hearts.” The morning was like all other mornings at Harding, made up of recitation hours and hurried intervals of study between. The afternoon began with a disappointment, for Betty and Madeline had planned to go skating, and soon after lunch word came that the ice on the river was not strong enough and the rink was closed for the day.
“Too bad,” said Madeline philosophically, “but I think it’s growing colder, and we’ll go to-morrow. Let’s look up our history topics for the day after to-morrow now, and then go for a long walk.”