“Here come the Janes for some dances!” muttered an eighteen-year-old “sport” of the neighborhood, in an audible undertone. “Look out, Aggie, you’re goin’ a lose your little Charlie!”
Instead of admonishing the youth for his rudeness, as Marjorie hoped she would, the young lady only giggled.
“Classmate of your grandmother’s, Charlie!” tittered another boy, breaking into hilarious laughter at his own exquisite wit.
Covered with confusion, Marjorie slipped her arm through Lily’s and staggered to a seat at the side. It was not until the music had started again that she regained courage to look about her.
“Don’t take it so hard, Marj!” pleaded Lily. “They don’t faze me—only fill me with disgust.”
“Poor Daisy—it certainly is a lucky thing she didn’t come; she’s so sensitive that she would be in tears by now! But Lil, please don’t say ‘I told you so!’” begged Marjorie penitently. “You were right—I admit it now—a class election is infinitely preferable to this!”
Her roommate smiled indulgently; Marjorie was always so willing to admit it when she was wrong.
“But what are we going to do—all evening?” she inquired. “It’s silly to sit here uselessly, and evidently these young flappers have no intention of speaking to us.”
Marjorie resolutely assumed a look of defiance.
“I’m going to stay here until I have watched every single girl through a whole dance. During each intermission I’m going out to make my notes.”