“No; I see a certain someone’s finish, don’t you?” The girl who made the reply smiled as though signally amused. In the light cast by the powerful post lights, the faces of her companions reflected that amused smile. “I could have shrieked for joy when that crowd of freshmen walked in with Beauty in their midst,” she continued. “They were all very pretty girls, Selma. I really think we ought to take up the matter and have some fun over it.”
“Incidentally, it would pull someone off a pedestal where she never truly belonged. I never considered Natalie Weyman a real beauty. She is pretty, but rather artificial, I think.” The author of this criticism was an attractive young woman with wavy chestnut hair and deep blue eyes, the beauty of which was partly obscured by eyeglasses.
“I don’t admire Miss Weyman’s style of good looks, either, Nella.” This from the fourth member of the party, a small girl with pale brown hair, pale blue eyes, with very dark brows and lashes, and a skin dazzlingly white. Standing five feet one in high heels, Vera Mason was noticeable for her doll-like daintiness of form and feature. She was not beautiful, so far as regularity of feature went, for her small nose turned up a trifle and her mouth was too wide to be classically perfect. She was, however, singularly charming.
“I had rather call you a beauty any time than apply it to her, Midget,” was Leila Harper’s quick return. Her eyes of true Irish blue twinkled as she said this. Suddenly she threw back her head and laughed aloud, showing white even teeth, their very soundness matching the rest of her strong-featured face and blue-black hair. Leila was of old Irish stock and very proud of it.
“Oh, girls, I have it; a plan I mean!” she exclaimed. “Now listen to the wise Irish woman and you’ll agree with me that there’s nothing that could fit the occasion more nearly than what I have in mind. It will do wonders in the way of curing Nat Weyman’s swelled head and no one can possibly say it isn’t fair.”
Four abreast in the moonlight, the sophomores who had so heartily admired Marjorie strolled back to the campus, listening as they went to a plan Leila was unfolding which appeared to afford them much anticipatory delight.
Meanwhile at the quaint old inn the Five Travelers were hungrily disposing of a comforting meal, wholly unconscious of being already a subject for discussion among a certain group of sophomores. It was as well for Marjorie’s peace of mind that she did not know she had already been acclaimed a beauty at Hamilton College. Neither could the four sophomores, who were thoughtlessly planning the merited discomfiture of one girl through the raising up of another, know what a difference the carrying out of that plan would make in Marjorie Dean’s life at Hamilton College.
CHAPTER XIV.—A SILENT DECLARATION OF HOSTILITY.
Not very long after the Five Travelers returned to Wayland Hall the half-past ten o’clock bell sounded. Desirous of complying with the rules of the college from the start, they had prepared for sleep in much greater haste than usual, a proceeding which Veronica deplored most of all. Accustomed to making leisurely preparations for retiring, she had known beforehand that this would be her chief annoyance when at college.
For fully twenty-five minutes after the penetrating clang of the house bell had ceased, sound of voices and light footsteps in the hall indicated that a few students, at least, were not taking the ten-thirty rule very seriously.