CHAPTER XVII
MARJORIE’S DISAPPOINTMENT
Morning exercises at Miss Allen’s always began with the singing of a hymn, followed by reading from the Bible by one of the teachers. No matter what events were to come after, this custom was never altered.
Once in two months the students received their reports with due formality when everyone was in the assembly room. Miss Allen’s secretary carried the pile of white envelopes on to the platform; and, after the religious exercises were concluded, the Principal read the names of the girls in the order of their averages, and they came forward to receive the reports.
Up to this time, Marjorie had never been particularly interested in the ceremony. She always wanted to pass, but she rather regarded those girls whose marks ranged from eighty to ninety per cent as a little “queer”; they must be abnormal if they were more interested in mathematics and Latin than in hockey and cocoa-parties.
But this Monday morning after the Latin test, she felt that she had never cared about anything so much before as she cared for her term average. She was so nervous that she could have cried out while the girls droned through four stanzas of the hymn the music teacher had selected. She glanced apprehensively at the secretary, but failed to see the usual pile of white envelopes on the chair beside her; then resolutely putting her doubts aside, she attempted to join in the singing.
Finally it was over; Miss Allen rose and walked to the front of the platform. But, contrary to her usual custom, the secretary kept her seat. Something was wrong; Marjorie sensed it even before Miss Allen began to explain.
“Girls,” she said slowly, fingering her watch-chain, “I am very sorry to say that you will not receive your marks until to-morrow. We received Miss White’s list of Latin test averages only to-day; so, even though Miss Smith will work on them all day in the office, we can’t have them ready before late this afternoon. But as soon as she has them made up, she will give the list of girls eligible for the Scout troop to Miss Phillips, and perhaps we can announce the new candidates at dinner to-night. But you may come to assembly to-morrow prepared to receive your reports.”
When Miss Allen stopped speaking, Marjorie discovered that she was literally shaking all over. “Why, I never cared half so much about making the sorority,” she said to herself. “I wonder if Ruth felt that way over it—and Lily, too! Poor girls! I wish I had been more sympathetic. But I didn’t understand.”
No day ever seemed so long to Marjorie; but it went all too quickly for Ruth, who was glad to have the moment postponed when Marjorie learned of her disappointment. Once or twice she was inclined to regret her action, and her conscience told her that she had broken the Scout’s first law—that “her honor is to be trusted;” but she always succeeded in justifying herself by thinking: “Marjorie was glad I didn’t make the sorority, and probably would have done the same thing to me if it had been necessary!” She remembered the house-party, and the dance, and Marjorie’s indifference during the past months; and she gritted her teeth, and said she was glad for what she had done.