“Ever met this Sam of Queenie’s, Miss Wilkinson?” questioned Gertie. “Sized him up for yourself yet?”
“No, I haven’t,” answered Marjorie, as she poured the tea. “Now—you’ll excuse paper napkins, won’t you? And Mame, will you pass the cake?”
Gertie’s eyes shone at the sight of the chocolate fudge cake, and she helped herself plentifully. Marjorie, noticing her pleasure, seized the opportunity to direct the conversation away from Queenie.
“Mother made the cake,” she explained. “She usually sends me a box from home every week-end.”
“It’s swell!” exclaimed Gertie, relapsing into silence while she consumed it.
“Did you come out by train or trolley?” inquired Marjorie.
“Trolley,” answered Mame, briefly. “We’re goin’ back the same way.”
Gertie, who had finished the refreshment, sought to revive the gossip.
“You sure ought a meet Sam, Miss Wilkinson,” she observed again. “You’d get a jolt, all right.”
“What’s the matter with him, Gertie?” Marjorie demanded, in exasperation. “I can’t see that it’s any affair of ours who Queenie’s friends are!”