“You better not congratulate us too soon,” put in Ethel, somewhat bitterly. “We haven’t received the cars yet.” She glanced slyly at Marjorie and then at Miss Vaughn, who sat with her lips tightly closed and with anything but an amiable expression upon her face. Surely she was right: something was going to happen!
“But we’re going to order them tomorrow!” laughed Daisy, reassuringly. “And I’ll take you for a ride in mine the first thing, Clyde!”
“Thanks!” murmured the young man, gratefully.
“You’d risk your life to her, then, McDaniel!” teased Vaughn Crowell.
“The girls were all experienced drivers by now,” returned McDaniel, haughtily. “So I do not feel that I am taking any risk!”
“So long as they don’t have to fix punctures!” put in Milton Crowell, sarcastically.
“Oh, we can even do that!” Florence asserted proudly. “Just ask Clyde or Vincent—they know!”
“Indeed we do!” cried both boys eagerly; and again Marjorie noticed that Miss Vaughn retained her stolid, expressive silence.
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the other two guests of the dinner party—Jo Wallace and Ned Hitchens—and the gathering was complete. A moment later the butler announced dinner.
Marjorie found herself sauntering rather listlessly into the dining-room, with no great anticipation for the little party. A wave of homesickness spread over her as she took her seat between Clyde McDaniel and Jo Wallace; she wished so much that John Hadley or Dick Roberts, or her brother were beside her, instead. For once in her life she felt absolutely bored; she wondered what in the world she would find to talk about to either of the young men.