“Oh, no; I can pick up my own affairs again, later. None of them are important except my exam, and I am not going to worry over that. If you will excuse me, I will go and find Miss Remson. She will assign you to your rooms. Dinner is on now. There goes the bell. It is later this one week; at a quarter to seven, on account of returning students. It’s on until a quarter to eight. Beginning next week, it will be on at precisely half-past six and off at half-past seven. After that you go hungry, or else to Baretti’s or the Colonial. Both are quite near here. No more explanation now, but action.”
With a pleasant little nod the sophomore left the reception room in search of Miss Remson, the manager of Wayland Hall. She left behind her, however, an atmosphere of friendliness and cheer that went far toward dispelling the late cloud of having been either purposely or carelessly overlooked.
CHAPTER XI.—SETTLING DOWN AT WAYLAND HALL.
“Yes; to be sure. I have the correspondence from all of you Sanford girls. I think there has been no mistake concerning your rooms. Just a moment.”
Miss Remson, a small, wiry-looking woman with a thin, pleasant face and partially gray hair, bustled to a door, situated at the lower end of the room. Thrown open, it disclosed a small, inner apartment, evidently doing duty as the manager’s office. Seating herself before a flat-topped oak desk, she opened an upper drawer and took from it a fat, black, cloth-covered book. Consulting it, she rose and returned with it in her hand.
“Miss Dean and Miss Macy made application for one room together, Miss Harding for a single room, provided a classmate, who expected to enter Wellesley, did not change her mind in favor of Hamilton. In that case she would occupy the room with Miss Harding. Miss Lynne applied for a single and afterward made request that Miss Warner might share it with her. Am I correct?”
The manager spoke in an alert tone, looking up with a slight sidewise slant of her head that reminded Marjorie of a bird.
“That is the way we meant it to be. I hope there have been no changes in the programme.” Jerry had constituted herself spokesman.
“None, whatever. I have a request to make of Miss Harding.” Unerringly she picked out Muriel, though Marjorie had only gone over their names to her once by way of general introduction. “Would you be willing to take a room-mate? We have so many applications for Wayland Hall to which we simply can pay no attention save to return the word ‘no room.’ This particular application of which I speak has been made by a junior, Miss Hortense Barlow. She was at Wayland Hall during her freshman year, but left here to room with a friend at Acasia House during her sophomore year. Her friend was a junior then and was therefore graduated last June. Miss Barlow is most anxious to return to this house.”
Muriel looked rather blank at this disclosure. She was not at all anxious for a room-mate, unless it were a Lookout, which was out of the question.