“They do not, as a rule.” Ronny’s whole face was alive with mirth. “Now who could have started that absurd tale?” She turned to Marjorie.
“I don’t know.” Marjorie looked troubled. Incidental with Leila’s recital, Jerry’s remarks concerning being “looked up” by the Sans had returned to her. “Part of that amazing information must have come from some one in Sanford who wanted to be malicious. Not the Lind part. That is funny.” Her sober features relaxed into an amused smile. “You had better explain to the girls about the servant girl part, Ronny.”
“O-h-h!” sighed Ronny. “You tell them, please, Marjorie.”
“All right; glad to.” Marjorie’s revelation of the part Ronny had played during the previous year at high school was received with absorbed attention. When she went on to say that Ronny’s father was Alfred Lynne, the noted western philanthropist, Leila gave a sharp little whistle of surprise.
“Oh, the poor Sans!” she chuckled. “Might not your father be able to buy out all their fathers and still have a dollar left?”
“He might,” emphasized Ronny, with a companion chuckle. “I haven’t made a secret of my identity this year. Oh, those simpletons! Well, I shall not disabuse them of their beliefs concerning me. Let them hug them to their hearts if they choose.”
“That is not all, girls.” Leila’s features grew suddenly grave. “The rest has to do with you, Marjorie. We can’t get at it. A sophomore friend of ours told Vera and me this. She asked us to pass it on to you. The Sans are talking you over among the upper class girls. Those who will listen, I mean. Our friend heard it from a soph who is about half snob, half democrat. One of the Sans received a letter from someone who seems to know all about your town and you, Marjorie. The letter is making mischief. There is something against your high school record in it. We have found out that much. We believe in you. We would like to know what you wish done concerning it.”
As Leila continued speaking, Marjorie had turned very white. It was the white of righteous wrath. “There is only one person I know in Sanford who would write such a letter,” she said, her voice thick with anger. “I mean Rowena Farnham, Ronny. How she happens to be in touch with the Sans I do not know. It isn’t surprising. She is ill-bred, unfair and untruthful; a girl, who, without knowing me, tried to make trouble for me on her very first day at high school. I will find out who has that letter and make the person read it to me. Then I shall post a notice on the bulletin board saying that an untruthful, injurious letter is being circulated at Hamilton about me. I will not allow such a letter to gain headway!” Her tones rose in passionate protest.
“Easy, now. Don’t worry.” Leila’s hand, warm and reassuring, closed over Marjorie’s clenched fingers. “You can’t make the Sans give up the letter, Marjorie. The ring king of ’em has it. Leslie Cairns is carrying this outrage on. I believe you are right about this Farnham person. Where is she now?”
“At boarding school, I suppose. She went away to school last year. The Farnhams have a cottage at the sea shore. It is about ten miles from Severn Beach. That’s where the Macys always go. Maybe Miss Cairns met Rowena there,” Marjorie speculated. “I am going to tell you the whole story of my trouble with Rowena Farnham. Then you will see for yourselves the sort of a person she is.”