“Be careful how you say ‘butterflies,’ Hilary. Remember the Psyche Club!”
“That’s a different kind of butterfly, Betty. But I was going to say that they have a larger number always and probably average up with as much real talent. So the main thing to me is to be with you girls. If there is any rivalry, I want to be on the same side as the rest of you.”
“We’ll get along all right with Dorothy and Jane—we’ll just leave society discussions out!”
“Oh, yes, Diane; it isn’t so terribly important, after all.”
The girls of the two suites, then, with Diane and Evelyn, were among those who decided on the Whittier Society. Their acceptances were received with great joy, there was much coming and going of senior collegiate girls, and great plans were made for the initiation. It was all very different from the starting of the Shakespearean Society in the academy the year before. Now they were among the older girls of the school, intimates of the senior collegiates, putting up their hair and wearing the same styles! And on the day of the society decision, Cathalina received two interesting letters, one on the Grant Academy stationery and the other, big and fat, inscribed in a dashing masculine hand. They came on the afternoon mail, which the girls received too late to read before they made ready for dinner, and after that meal there was great silence and reading of letters in the suite.
“If I had known what mail awaited little me,” said Cathalina, “I would not have been able to stay away so long before dinner.”
“But we had such a good time on the beach,” said Betty, opening her second letter. “I’m dying to know from whom that fattest letter came.”
“So am I,” added Lilian, mischievously. “I don’t seem to recognize the handwriting.”
Cathalina’s mouth curved into a smile as she read on. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you,” said she. “There is no secret. I didn’t recognize the writing, either, though I’ve seen it often enough.”
“I know who it is, then,” said Betty—“Bob Paget, because he would write to Phil.”