“Of course I came. Do you think I’d have missed my own commencement?” said T., shaking hands with four girls at once. “Frank, this is Helen Adams, my best friend at Harding. Miss Parker, Mr. Howard. I’m sorry, Bob, but he’s not a Filipino. He’s just a plain American who lives in the Philippines.”
“Have you forgotten how to play basket ball, T.?” called somebody.
T. gave a rapturous little smile. “Could we have a game this afternoon? That’s what I came for, really. We meant to get here last week, but the boat was late. Yes, I’m sorry to have missed the play and the concert; but it’s worth coming for, just to see you all.” T.’s bright eyes grew soft and misty. “I tell you, girls, you don’t know what it means to be a Harding girl until you’ve been half across the world for awhile. No, I’m not sorry I left, but it’s great to be back!”
Mary Brooks, arrayed in a bewitching summer toilette, stood at the door of the Students’ Building, and managed to intercept Betty and Roberta, as they went in.
“You may congratulate me now if you like,” she said calmly, leading them off to a secluded corner behind a group of statuary, where their demonstrations of interest wouldn’t attract too much attention. The news wasn’t at all surprising, but Mary looked so pretty and so happy and assured them so solemnly that she had never dreamed of anything of the kind at Christmas, that there was plenty of excitement all the same.
“And of course I must have posts at my wedding,” said Mary, whereat Betty hugged her and Roberta looked more pleased than she had when Mr. Masters called her a genius. “And bridesmaids,” added Mary, with the proper feeling for climax. “Laurie is going to be maid-of-honor, and if you two can come and be bridesmaids and the rest of the crowd almost—bridesmaids, in the words of the poetical Roberta——”
She never finished her sentence for the rest of the crowd had discovered her retreat, and guessing at the news she had for them bore noisily down upon her.
“It’s so convenient that she’s going to be married this summer,” said Babbie jubilantly. “We can have our first reunion at the wedding. I simply couldn’t have waited until June to see you all again.”
“We couldn’t any of us have waited,” declared Bob. “Somebody else must get married about Christmas time.”
“Why don’t you?” asked Babbie nonchalantly, while Madeline looked hard at Eleanor and wished New York and Denver weren’t so dreadfully far apart. For how could Dick Blake, busy editor of “The Quiver,” make love to the most fascinating girl in the world when she lived at that distance.