The other looked longingly toward the way of escape while she walked on with Polly.
Juanita Sterling and Blanche Puddicombe stood face to face, a smiling "How do you do, Miss Puddicombe!" on one side, a gushing "I'm charmed to meet you!" on the other, with a gingerly hand-shake between.
Nelson Randolph was too busy with his tire for much talking, and, as early as decency would allow, Miss Sterling by degrees slipped into the background,
"Let's go on," she whispered, taking Miss Leatherland's arm.
The others straggled after, by twos and threes.
"Why didn't you stay longer?" questioned Polly, overtaking her friend.
"There was nothing to stay for," she laughed.
"Miss Puddicombe said she would like to get acquainted with you."
Polly's tone had the inflection of disappointment.
"Very kind of her," was the quiet comment.
Polly glanced whimsically at Miss Sterling's face. "I guess that is the grove you were speaking of," was what she said.