XXIII
CLOUDS CLEARED AWAY
Julia was the first person outside her own family to whom Lois told her good fortune, and Julia, to tell the truth, was a trifle disappointed in hearing of it, for she had formed a little plan of her own, and if Miss Ambrose had not been ahead of her, she would have come forward to prevent Lois’ leaving. She told Clarissa, however, how near the class had come to losing Lois, and Clarissa, not vowed to secrecy, told others. The disclosure was entirely to the advantage of Lois, for all the class expressed itself fully as to its great loss, if its most promising student had had to leave for the mere lack of a little money. Clarissa and Polly artfully took advantage of this feeling, and talked about Lois’ accomplishments so persistently that even the least interested admitted that she was the very girl for the Idler Presidency. It was hard for Annabel to count herself altogether out of the running, but at last she submitted gracefully to what she could not help; and if she did not try to forward Clarissa’s cause, she certainly did nothing to hinder it. As she improved in health she did not open her heart to Clarissa, and she made no admission of knowing more than any one else about the publication of Professor Z’s notes. She was very friendly to the Kansas girl, and even invited her one afternoon as guest of honor to one of her famous little afternoon teas. Polly laughingly accused Clarissa of permitting herself to be bribed into friendliness. But Clarissa retorted that she had never felt unkindly toward Annabel, and that in time wrongs generally righted themselves. It was probably through Annabel’s influence that Alma Stacey bent all her energies toward getting Clarissa on the basket ball team, and succeeded.
As the spring passed on, many pleasant little social events brought the Juniors in closer contact with girls in the other classes. The students of highest rank had been elected into the various clubs, according to the studies in which they excelled. No one with less than two “A’s,” or two “B’s” with two additional courses could be admitted into these exclusive little organizations, and membership in the History or English or Philosophy Club, or indeed in any of several others, was accounted a great honor.
Julia was in the History and Music Clubs, Polly was in the English Club, Lois was in half a dozen of them, and Clarissa, almost to her own surprise, was in the Philosophy Club, having made a great impression on her classmates, as well as on her professors, by her very original method of interpreting various theories of philosophy. The Juniors were admitted in season to take part in the open meetings of these clubs, to which were invited the members of the corresponding clubs at Harvard, as well as the teachers in the department and individual guests of honor from outside.
The Juniors, however, felt closer in touch with the Seniors when they planned one or two special things in honor of the class so soon to go out.
“They treated us well when they were Sophomores, and we were nothing but Freshmen, so now we must do our best to make them feel that they really will be missed,” said Julia, as she and Polly and one or two others of the committee were planning what form the Senior party should take.
“Oh, there’s no danger of their not thinking that they will be missed,” cried Polly. “Why, I believe that Elizabeth Darcy anticipates that the decline of Radcliffe will date from the day of her graduation. But we won’t let a little prejudice stand in the way of our giving them a good send-off.”
This particular affair was called a music party, and a prize was offered by the Juniors to the Senior who should show herself most familiar with unclassical music. The prize was a pretty little old Dutch silver violin, and to the amusement of all it went to a girl who sang all the lyrics from all the operettas composed by Radcliffe girls during the past five years. She offered to play each operetta through from beginning to end, but the judges (which meant the whole Junior class) begged off and declared that she had sufficiently shown her ability, and had really earned the prize. So with much laughter the tiny violin on a crimson ribbon was slung around her neck.
In return the Seniors gave the Juniors a party, requesting in their invitations that each girl should bring a book for the little white bookcase in the Senior room. “As you will soon be Seniors yourselves,” the invitations had said, “these books will really be for your own use, and you have always been so unselfish that you wouldn’t have thought of doing this had we not reminded you.”
The Senior rooms occupied the first floor of a pretty old-fashioned cottage on the Fay House grounds. With good rugs, well-chosen pictures, a piano, writing desk, lounge, and easy-chairs, they offered a pleasant retreat for the Senior who wished to escape the noise of the larger buildings. Once a week during the winter the Seniors were at home for an informal afternoon tea, and it was only on this set day that an undergraduate ventured within the precincts. The old-fashioned house had been bought by the Radcliffe Trustees in their efforts to acquire for a campus all the land in the immediate vicinity of Fay House, and the little house in the natural course of events would sometime be pulled down. But in the meantime it was a delightful place of retreat for the Seniors. To be sure, Elspeth Gray, who had been in New York during the spring recess, brought back glowing accounts of the Senior room at Vassar.