Having disposed of this important matter, J. Elfreda’s gravity vanished and she became her usual funny self again. The three girls had a merry time together and set off for the dress rehearsal in high spirits.
When they reached Greek Hall they found that Grace and Arline had already arrived and were sitting far back in the hall watching a sextette of girls in smart white linen skirts, blue serge coats and straw hats, banded with blue ribbon, who were down on the programme for a song entitled “Our Fraternity Friends,” the number ending with a gay little dance taught them by Hilda Moore.
“Aren’t they clever?” asked Grace eagerly, turning to Kathleen. The three young women had made their way to where she was seated. “They only began practicing that dance last week. Miss Moore taught them. She dances beautifully.”
The rehearsal proceeded without a hitch. Arline and Elfreda, being sure of themselves, did not take part in it. Kathleen West’s clever one-act play, “In the Days of Shakespeare,” was worthy of her genius. It presented the scene from the “Taming of the Shrew,” where Petruchio ridicules Katherine’s gown and berates the tailor. This scene was enacted in accordance with the Elizabethan age, when the nobility were permitted to take seats on the stage with the actors, the latter being obliged to step around and over that part of the audience in order to make their entrances and exits. These favored nobles had also the privilege of expressing freely their opinions of the merits of the long-suffering mummers, which they usually did in a loud voice. Kathleen had made a careful study of the conditions prevailing in the theatre at that period, and the little play was most mirth provoking from beginning to end.
Mary Reynolds had also scored in the pathetic playlet, “The Freshman on the Top Floor,” depicting a lonely little girl whose poverty and diffidence kept her out of the carefree college life that went on in the house where she lived. Cecil Ferris essayed the role of the freshman.
The last number on the programme was Jean Brent’s solo. After considerable coaxing Louise had persuaded her to sing, and Gertrude Earle accompanied her on the piano. Grace felt her brief resentment against the girl vanish as she listened to her glorious voice which had a suspicion of tragedy in it.
There was a certain amount of lingering on the part of the performers to talk over the success of the dress rehearsal, but at last they all trooped across the campus to Harlowe House.
By curious chance Evelyn Ward found herself walking directly behind Jean Brent. She had been greatly affected by her singing. Obeying a sudden impulse, she leaned forward and touched Jean’s arm. “Can’t we be friends again, Jean,” she said wistfully. “I—I love your voice, and I care so much for you. There isn’t much of the year left and——”
Jean’s blue eyes grew strangely soft. “It was all my fault,” she said huskily. “Let’s begin over again, Evelyn.” And under the stars they made a new and truer covenant.