“What did you say to that?” asked Hope, watching Sidney, who was looking critically at the arrangement of the dresser and was changing the position of several knick-knacks.
“I said nothing, says I,” facetiously answered Sidney, looking into the mirror and giving her aristocratic nose a dab with the puff from her vanity case. And it may be remarked that Sidney was also enough of an aristocrat to powder that same nose nowhere else than in her boudoir or some equally private place.
“However,” she continued, “why not use a little influence if we have it? Why be seniors for nothing?”
“They will say that we do it anyhow,” approvingly Dulcie added, swinging her slippered feet under the bed and out again. “They did last year; don’t you remember, Hope?”
“Being accused of a thing and really doing it,” said Hope, “are two very different things.”
Sidney thought that Hope was being “snippy.” She cast a glance in Hope’s direction and brightly asked, “Any objection, Hope?”
“I never cared to belong to a political gang,” laughed Hope. “We see enough of that in Chicago.”
“Calls us a ‘gang,’ girls,” whimpered Fleta, making a comical face.
“Time enough to worry about politics when there is any reason for it,” comfortably said Edith Stuart. “There isn’t any objection to our having our own ideas and working for them, especially if they are for the good of the school and not just to get our own way. Being determined to get her own way and run everybody is like Stella Marbury. I am pretty sure that it was Stella who suggested that to Sidney. Own up, Sidney. Stella wants to be one to make this a Double Four, Sidney.”
Sidney was now sitting on a straight chair in a corner by a window. “Does she?” she asked, with no change of countenance.