When Mrs. Hadley afterwards spoke of Marjorie Wilkinson, she called her "the girl with the shining eyes." For when the machine stopped in front of the house in Trenton where she was visiting, and the young people ran up the steps to greet her, Marjorie was still radiant from her great discovery. For a time John's mother, who immediately took a tremendous liking to the girl, attributed her joy to anticipation of the pleasure that awaited her. But later she realized that the cause for it was something deeper, something within Marjorie's heart.
John, too, admitted reluctantly to himself that he was not a part of her happiness. It had, he realized, something to do with the Girl Scouts, and especially with her brief visit at that factory. But what it could possibly be, he had not the slightest idea.
The girls soon became entirely at home in their hostess's house, singing and playing the piano until it was time to dress for dinner.
When Marjorie came downstairs again, dressed in the pale blue georgette which she had worn at the sophomore reception, John Hadley thought he had never seen anyone so beautiful. Suddenly he realized, although he was only nineteen years of age, how tremendously he cared for this girl. Working hard all year, partially earning his way through college, he had little time to write to her; again he wondered what she had been doing, and whether any of the other Boy Scouts had claimed her attention. With a pang of jealousy, he became aware of the fact that she did not care for him as he did for her—to the exclusion of all others of the opposite sex. But John Hadley forgot that Marjorie was only sixteen—three years younger than himself.
Neither of the girls had ever attended a college function of any kind before, and they were thrilled with the experience. In spite of the fact that many of the other girls wore bobbed hair, and all had short skirts, they felt exceptionally youthful. Marjorie felt shy, too, and at the end of almost every dance she brought her partner over to Mrs. Hadley's corner, as if seeking her protection. The woman was subtly flattered; if Marjorie had tried to win her affection, she could not have chosen a more direct method. But she was all unconscious of the impression she was making.
Although the affair was not to be over until twelve, the boys had not filled out the girls' programs for the last dances. So, in accordance with Mrs. Wilkinson's wishes, they started for home in the machine by half eleven. To her surprise, Marjorie found that she was sleepy; and making no attempt at conversation, she leaned back against the cushions. In a few minutes she was fast asleep, her head resting against Mrs. Hadley's shoulder.
Sunday passed quickly for the girls, for they were both tired out, and their parents let them sleep late. At three o'clock they took the train for school.
"Nothing but rehearsals!" yawned Ruth. "Don't you wish the operetta were over?"
"Yes—and no," replied Marjorie, thinking of Frieda's promise. "I don't mind rehearsing much. But, then, I haven't a big part."