The innocent question brought a smile to Jacquette’s face.
“All the nicest ones, then?”
“Well, a nice girl that didn’t make a sorority would have a pretty lonesome time at Marston,” Jacquette was admitting, when Blanche Gross suddenly whirled around and offered them hot roasted peanuts from the bag she carried.
“Jack, do you know about these four Marys?” she asked, laughingly. “You have two with you, and I have two more here. Let me make you acquainted with Mary Barnes from St. Paul and Marie Stanwood from Omaha.”
“And here’s Marion Crandall and Mary Elliott,” Jacquette responded. “Isn’t that the funniest thing? They must be the ‘Queen’s Maries’.”
“Oh, do you know that song?” said Mary Elliott. “My mother used to sing me to sleep with it.”
“Pretty sad going to sleep, wasn’t it?” Jacquette asked, with a smile, and hummed a little of the haunting old melody:
“‘Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,
The night she’ll hae but three.