"If you're cowardly, Peggy," cried Priscilla, up in arms at once, "I'm sorry for the rest of us."
"Heavens, I should say so," agreed Phyllis. And then as the signal bell sounded, the girls rushed for the cloak room. Blended with Peggy's sorrow and her sense of humility, was a gratifying certainty that the last three weeks of her college life would be all she had dreamed.
CHAPTER XIX
THE END OF SCHOOL LIFE
The senior banquet was the most intimate and, in the opinion of many, the most delightful festivity of Commencement. No guests were invited. The only member of the faculty present was the honorary member of the class, a charming woman, who taught Greek and talked slang—as an antidote, she was wont to say. And because it was so strictly a class affair, a great deal of fun was in order which would have been impossible before ever so limited an audience.
"What I like about it is that it's frankly selfish," Peggy told Priscilla. And then noticing Priscilla's expression of incredulity, "I don't mean selfish in the mean sense, just the nice, comfortable, homey sort. All the rest of Commencement we're thinking about other people, the Board of Trustees, and the fathers and mothers, and the audience and the public. It's a comfort that there's one thing where we don't have to think of any one but ourselves, and we can be as silly as we please."
The first class to graduate had established a precedent which every succeeding class had strictly followed, that all engagements were to be announced at the class banquet, Commencement week. If for any reason it was preferred that such announcements should be regarded as confidential, it was understood that the members of the class would be put to torture rather than reveal a word. So strictly had a few such items of news been guarded—in some instances for several years—that the ability of a woman to keep a secret had apparently been satisfactorily demonstrated by the graduates of Peggy's alma mater. As a rule, however, the graduate who announced her engagement at the class banquet was willing that all the world should know the joyful news.
The banquet was held in the college gymnasium, the long tables being arranged in a hollow square. After the feasting was over, the waiters were dismissed and the doors closed to ensure perfect secrecy,—after which every girl engaged in the class was expected to take her stand in the central enclosure, carrying with her a photograph of her fiancé, the back of the said photograph being duly inscribed with her name and his. And as if this were not enough, each was required to state in a few well-chosen words the qualities which differentiated her particular young man from all the rest of mankind. At the conclusion of this unique ceremony, the photographs were passed about and duly inspected, and then a vote was taken to determine the handsomest. The gentleman so honored was presented with a stick-pin, which his betrothed took charge of until such time as she chose to deliver it.
As the girls dispatched their deviled crabs and chicken salad and ice cream, and other incongruous and indigestible dainties, the thoughts of many turned expectantly toward the ceremony immediately following the banquet. It was true that some of the engagements were no secret. Graham Wylie, for instance, had been Peggy Raymond's devoted cavalier ever since she graduated from high school. And there were girls in the dormitories who heard so frequently and at such length from certain men friends that they were assumed to be engaged whether they admitted it or not. But on the other hand there were always surprises enough to render the occasion exciting.