“Yes; she showed me her ticket.”
John thanked her, and hurried off to the ticket booth. But the express had already gone; there was not another train for over an hour. Looking up, he saw Richards, still busily searching the station. He called him over, and told him his news.
“The best thing we can do,” he said, “is to drive with all speed to Wilmington, and catch her at the station, before she meets the man. Luckily it’s a good road—we may be able to beat the train.”
In the meantime Marjorie and Lily had gone back to college, and were making an attempt to sleep. So utterly weary was Marjorie that her room-mate insisted upon undressing her, comforting her with the assurance that all would be right on the morrow. For, she reminded her, whenever Jack and John undertook anything, they succeeded.
The full reaction set in on Sunday; when Marjorie opened her eyes the next morning she realized that something was vitally wrong with her. Her head swam and her limbs ached; she wondered whether she could ever summon sufficient courage to get up. The thought of food was abhorrent to her; she absolutely refused to allow Lily to bring her any breakfast, and turned back on her pillow again in despair.
Neither she nor her room-mate mentioned the name of Queenie, yet Lily knew that in spite of her own aches and pains, Marjorie must be worrying about her. It was only when Daisy Gravers came in to congratulate her upon the winning of the championship, that the episode was mentioned.
“What’s the matter, Marj?” inquired Daisy, with concern. “You ought to be the happiest, gayest girl in the world, and instead you look all in.”
“I’m afraid that I over-did it,” replied Marjorie, sitting up in bed, and wearily brushing her hair. “I had no business to play last night——”
“Then why did you?”
“One of our girls didn’t show up, and we hadn’t any other substitute. So I had to—or forfeit the game.”