"Just to look at your room. Isn't it inspiring, Kit? This is Kit Robbins, Charity."
"Hope you'll like it at Hope." Charity gave Kit her hand with a warm grip. "I'm from the east, too, only not so far as you are, but we think Pennsylvania's east, out here. How do you like the decoration?"
Kit liked it, and said so emphatically. The room was in Chinese blue and black, tea table, chiffonier and two chairs painted a dull black, and the walls tinted a soft deep gray blue.
"I hunted all over Chicago for Chinese things, and I found a few. Isn't this a celestial rose jar? I think it's big enough for a pot of basil. Who was the gentle poet that sang of the lady who buried her fond lover's head in a flower pot and watered it with her tears?"
"Bet you use it for orange punch before the year is up," Peggy laughed. "Oh, Kit, she makes wonderful fruit punch. Each guest brings her own favorite fruit, then Charity mashes them all together and it's delicious."
"I wish I stayed here all the time," Kit exclaimed. "You miss the fun, being a day student, don't you?"
"Never mind, child," Charity told her consolingly, "we will have some special daylight celebrations all for you. Now clear out, girls, because I'm dying to lay out the first edition schedule."
"Charity's editor of the 'Glamour,'" Peg said. "The boys call it the 'Clamour,' but we don't mind. It used to be the 'Gleam,' but we thought 'Glamour' carried more intensity with it. Kit's going to dash off some little simple trifle in spare moments for us, aren't you? Amy writes poetry, free verse. Show them that bit you made up in Assembly."
Amy took out a sheet of copy paper from her Ancient History, and read aloud:
| "Oh, wayward maid, |
| Hast strayed |
| Too far from native strand. |
| Lost in a maze, the savage gaze |
| Becomes a frightened, spellbound gaze, |
| By fond ambition fanned." |