“I don’t,” icily contradicted Natalie. “Only I won’t take dictation from my father and mother, let alone my friends.”
“Drop it, then, and listen to me.” Leslie still continued to dictate, but in a modified tone. This was not lost on Natalie. She bore it, however, in discreet silence. “It is time to start on that Dean girl. I mean, to do some talking. We must catch her out on the campus and rag her a little. Leave it to me. I know how to begin on her. The rest of you, who happen to be along, can join in. Notice what I say and how I say it.”
By the merest chance, Marjorie’s path did not cross that of the Sans during the early part of the week. On Wednesday, after classes, she saw a number of them far down the drive, hurrying toward the Hall. Within a few yards of the steps, she entered the house and was opening the door of her room when she heard their voices in the lower hall. She tried not to think of the blight which hung over her, but she could not throw off a sense of heavy-heartedness such as she had not experienced since the time when Lucy Warner had chosen to disbelieve her word. Of all her chums, Lucy longed most to help her. She was understanding now how much her disbelief had made Marjorie suffer. Nothing could be done until Friday night, and the work of clearance lay in Veronica’s capable hands.
Friday dawned, clear and sunshiny. Marjorie hailed the day with relief. That evening would end her suspense. It was time it ended, she thought. She had received signs of what might lead to partial coventry on the part of a number of upper class students. She mentally set them down as girls whom she would take a just pleasure in avoiding, later on, when the smudge had been erased from her escutcheon.
From Ronny she had learned that Miss Remson expected a full attendance in the living room that evening. The brisk little manager was up in arms at the affair and declared that she would lend every effort to stamp out the rumor. “These young women are becoming insufferable,” she confided to Ronny. “Between you and me, they are not going to room at Wayland Hall next year unless the management should change hands.”
On Friday afternoon Marjorie hurried from the laboratory, where she had been at work during the last recitation period of the afternoon, and set off at a rapid walk across the campus. Her hands were stained from experimentations, and she was anxious to bathe and dress for the evening before dinner. She had thought of wearing a dark green cloth gown, fur-trimmed, as the most inconspicuous dress she owned. She was greatly depressed at the idea of being dragged again into prominence. Nevertheless, no one could have persuaded her not to go on and thresh the matter out with those who had sought to injure her.
Influenced by her thoughts, her face showed a sternness which seldom visited it. A fairly strong east wind which had risen and blew against her caused her to bow her head to it a trifle. Enwrapped in her somber reflections, she was over half way to the Hall when the sound of voices smote her ears. Looking up quickly, she saw a bevy of girls coming toward her. She recognized them as Sans. More, that she was their objective. She could not avoid them, nor did she wish to do so. She simply kept on walking until within a few feet of them.
“Steady there, Joan!” suddenly drawled a voice Marjorie knew and disliked. “Be careful. Don’t walk over the college beauty. Why, good afternoon, Miss Bean! Oh, I beg your pardon; Dean, I believe is correct. A fine day, isn’t it? I imagine it is much colder in Sanford. A fine little town, I hear. It has such a splendid high school. One has to have a high standard of honor to be admitted to it. If one cheats in examinations or does anything dishonest one is expelled from school. Just like that!” Leslie struck her hands smartly together. “One really should be very careful. Even if one has been expelled and then happened to get back into this wonderful high school, through influence, the story of one’s dishonesty is likely to travel into college.”
“Yes, I have heard that, too,” chimed in Natalie Weyman. “We should be delighted to hear your opinion, Miss Dean. Don’t be in a hurry. We have been told that you can make the prettiest little speeches. Make a speech now.”
“Speech! Speech!” chorused the others, simulating avid enthusiasm. Very innocently they drew nearer, as though partially to hem her in.