“Does she—does Ruth’s room-mate—belong to any of the sororities?”
“Yes, she belongs to the sorority,” replied Miss Landis. “There’s only one, but we teachers wish there weren’t any; for it takes the girls’ minds from their lessons and their athletics, and besides, it causes a good deal of unhappiness.”
“Unhappiness!” repeated Marjorie in astonishment. “Why, I should think it would be all fun.”
“It is—for those who belong. But you see only sixteen girls—four out of each class—are chosen; and most of the other girls in the school are miserable because they aren’t asked to join. We’d like to abolish it; but some of the prominent Alumnæ who are members of the Board belong, and as long as the girls want it, they won’t hear of doing away with it.”
Miss Landis stopped before a door at the back of the building. “Here is your room,” she said.
As the teacher threw open the door, Marjorie experienced a chill of disappointment. In contrast to Ruth’s attractive room, hers was dark and small, with only one window, and the slanting roof extended down over part of the wall. And it was very bare—only the bed seemed ready for use.
“I’m sorry you’ll be alone,” said Miss Landis, “but I’ll come and take you over to Ruth’s room to go down to supper with her. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
It was all Marjorie could do to keep from crying. Mechanically she began to take off her hat and coat.
“I feel just like poor little Paul Dombey who was sent to that dreary school of Doctor Blimber’s—in Dickens,” thought Marjorie. “Only, I guess everything will be all right when I see Ruth again, and meet my room-mate.”
The bell for supper had already rung; in a few minutes Miss Landis returned, and they started off together for Ruth’s room. There was no answer to Miss Landis’s knock at the door.