“No, indeed,” rejoined Clarissa; “but speaking of Jane—”
“Who spoke of Jane?”
“Well, if we were speaking of Jane, it seems to me that we should all say that she looks tired—too much work and no play. She’s something like you, Pamela, only more so, though she has the excuse of being a Senior. But speaking of Seniors (we really were speaking of Seniors this time), there’s Jane herself. Come, Jane,” and Polly raised her voice slightly, that Jane, who was passing the door, might hear her.
It was after half-past four, and Polly, Pamela, and the others were sitting in one of the vacant recitation rooms.
“Come, Jane,” said Polly, “we wish you to tell us why you have abjured society of late. There have been several teas lately where you were especially expected, which were remarkably desolate on account of your absence.”
At this Jane looked uncomfortable. Was Polly making fun of her?
Julia’s more serious tones reassured her.
“Yes, tell us, Jane. Ruth and I had the special honor the other evening of pouring chocolate at Professor Judson’s; his wife is some kind of a cousin of Uncle Robert’s. But why weren’t you there? You belong to the Philosophical Club.”
“Yes,” added Polly. “You would have enjoyed meeting some of your fellow sufferers from Harvard; there were several sedate youths among them, Jane, exactly your style. The paper was most improving; every social gathering in Cambridge has to be opened with a paper. Why weren’t you there?”
“Clothes,” replied Jane laconically, smoothing the folds of her black student gown.