"If you mention Frieda Hammer again," threatened Lily, "when I get back to school, I'll go poison that fortune teller for getting you so worked up."
"Oh, please don't, Lil!" begged Marjorie, good-naturedly.
She followed her hostess out of the brilliantly lighted department store, across the street, and into a cozy, softly lighted tea-room. The contrast between the glaring, noisy shops and this quiet, restful retreat worked wonders with the tired girls. They seemed almost immediately to imbibe the peaceful atmosphere, and to become refreshed.
"It's lovely!" exclaimed Marjorie, refusing even to look at the menu. "Anything you order will suit me."
Although Marjorie had decided not to plague Lily again with the mention of Frieda, she had by no means forgotten her. Accordingly, she followed the proceeding she had adopted upon every occasion since she had entered New York; she looked carefully at every young girl she saw, hoping that it might prove to be Frieda.
As soon as her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, she peered eagerly,—almost rudely, she was afraid—into the faces of the waitresses. Suddenly, her heart stood still; at the far corner, near the swinging door leading to the kitchen, stood a girl bearing a striking resemblance to Frieda! Could Marjorie be dreaming—or was it possible that the runaway had a double? She dared not trust her own eyes.
"Look, Lil!" she whispered. "Could that be Frieda, there?"
Lily followed the direction indicated by Marjorie, and saw a slim girl in black, wearing a waitress's cap and apron. The girl was neat, and her hair was tidy; indeed, one would have to stretch the imagination to picture her as the one of the troop's adoption. And yet her features—and something about her bearing were decidedly like Frieda.
"Oh, Frieda Hammer would never get a job in a place like this," remarked Lily, discouragingly. "They only employ refined girls here!"