CHAPTER XIV.
THE PURSUIT OF PLEASURE
Muriel Harding had gone home on the Christmas vacation more puzzled than hurt over Doris Monroe’s sudden swerve from affability to hostility. It was not in Muriel’s easy-going nature to trouble long over anything, no matter how serious.
Since Marjorie had wished her to invite Doris to go with them to Sanford she had promptly acquainted her chum with “the Ice Queen’s return to the glacial period.” When Marjorie had perplexedly questioned “Why?” Muriel had replied with good-natured impatience: “Why does it rain? Because it does? Why is the Ice Queen? Because she is.”
During the last two or three busy days before vacation claimed them Doris and Muriel had employed monosyllables in addressing each other. Of the two Doris was the more greatly disturbed over the strained relations she had brought about. She had more real liking for Muriel than for any other student on the campus. Underneath her cold, indifferent exterior she had a critical appreciation of Muriel’s quick wit and extreme cleverness. The majority of the students whom she graciously allowed to admire her she took small interest in. Her approach and Muriel’s toward mutual friendliness had been very slow. It had progressed, however, in spite of the groundless dislike she persisted in holding against Muriel’s intimates.
She had gone furiously out of the Hall to mail the letter to Leslie Cairns vowing that she would never speak to Muriel again. Her tempestuous resolve was not so much the result of anger as of wounded pride. What a poor opinion Muriel Harding must have of her had been her chagrined thought as she crossed the campus to the mail box. Muriel had invited those wretched, beggarly off-campus students to her home first. She had only served Muriel as a last resort. Besides Muriel had discussed her with Marjorie Dean; no doubt had belittled her. Miss Dean had chosen to regard her as a welfare problem. Very likely Miss Dean was jealous of her because she had won the Beauty contest.
Though Doris did not suspect it the full-grown soul she possessed was awakening and beginning to clamor for attention. The true depths of her nature were trying to rise and overflow her more superficial side. Selfish indifference alone was the barrier that stood between her and a fuller, freer, happier college life.
She had found the admiration she had been accorded, first at the old-time hop, later at the Beauty contest, far more satisfying than merely being trotted about the campus by over-fond freshies as a “crush.” There had been a spirit of fun and frolic about both social affairs which had appealed to her girlish imagination. She was only eighteen and in spite of her bored, sophisticated air rather childish at heart.
For this very reason she had never really approved of Leslie Cairns or her unscrupulous, high-handed methods. She had been a little dazzled at first by Leslie’s expensive clothes, lavish expenditures of money and apparently boundless liberty. At the time when Leslie had offered her the use of the white car she had named the Dazzler, Doris had felt some degree of liking for the ex-student of Hamilton. She had more reluctantly accepted the gift of the smart white costume and furs which Leslie had insisted upon giving her. She had demurred even more strongly against allowing Leslie to open an account for her at the Hamilton Reserve Bank. Leslie had over-ruled her in the matter and had deposited in the bank five hundred dollars to the account of Doris Monroe. She had assured Doris that she regarded the transaction as “a business proposition.”
Her chief argument had invariably been: “Make yourself popular on the campus and it will be worth a lot more to me than a few dollars, togs or buzz-wagons. I need you to keep me posted as to what goes on at the knowledge shop. Leave Bean and her Beanstalks alone, though. When I need news of them you can get it in a roundabout way. I’ll help you, and I’ll expect you to help me—when I need you.”
Just what Leslie meant by frequent covert allusions to a future day when she would need Doris’s help was something Doris occasionally pondered. She had firmly refused to interest herself in the tentative proposal Leslie had once made that certain anonymous letters should be written and sent to Marjorie Dean. Since that occasion Leslie had never suggested any other unscrupulous work for Doris to do.