Grace rose from her chair, lay down the notebook she had been running through, and hastily followed Anne.
"Have a cushion," laughed Miriam hospitably, throwing a fat sofa pillow at Grace, who caught it dextrously, patted it into shape and, placing it on the floor, sat down on it Turk fashion. Elfreda poured another cup of chocolate, then seated herself on the floor beside Grace. "Pass Grace the sandwiches, Anne," she ordered. "We made these ourselves. We bought the stuff at that new delicatessen place on High Street."
"They are delicious," commented Grace, between bites. "I'm hungry to-night. I didn't like the dinner very well."
"Neither did we," responded Miriam. "After dinner we went out for a walk to see what we could find, and we brought back what you see spread before you."
"I shall pay a visit to the delicatessen shop," announced Grace. "To-morrow night you must come to my room for a spread."
"I'll come to your room with pleasure," retorted Elfreda, "but not to eat. One spread a week is my limit. Now for my news. The Anarchist has accepted my invitation to the reception."
"Really!" exclaimed Grace. "Do tell us about it, Elfreda."
"I delivered my invitation after dinner to-night," began Elfreda. "I waited and waited, thinking some one else might invite her. I am not yearning for the honor, you know. I went to her door and knocked. Her roommate, Miss Taylor, opened it. The Anarchist sat over in one corner of the room, studying like mad. By the way, I understand she is a dig and stands high in her classes."
"Is she?" asked Anne, opening her eyes. "Then that is one thing she has in her favor. Perhaps we shall discover other good qualities in her that we've overlooked."
"Perhaps," echoed Miriam dryly.