“I’ve been looking at our new room ever since I woke up,” saluted Marjorie. “It is pretty, I think. I am not used to blue, though. It matches you better than me, Jerry.”
“Yes, I see it does. It’s large enough for the furniture, without crowding. That’s what I like about it. I believe——”
The silver-tongued chimes cut into Jerry’s speech, ringing out a live little prelude before striking seven. Came the striking of the hour, a slow, measured salute to the sunny autumn morning.
“You may politely say ‘excuse me,’ next time you butt into my conversation.” Jerry nodded an admonishing head in the direction from whence the musical sounds had come. “Funny I didn’t hear those chimes at six o’clock. I was awake.”
“Maybe they don’t play them every hour,” suggested Marjorie. “I remember when we were living in B—— an Episcopal Church near where we lived had a set of chimes installed. They started out by having them played every hour. It annoyed the nearby residents so much that they finally rang them only at six o’clock in the evening and on special occasions. They never bothered General and Captain and me. We were sorry to lose them. It was like meeting some one I hadn’t heard of in a long while to hear those good old bells last night. There are two things I love already about Hamilton. One is the campus; the other is the chimes.”
“I agree with you about the campus. I don’t know yet about the chimes. Familiarity with them may breed anything but admiration.” Jerry was only jesting. Such was her nature that she shied at the proximity of sentiment. She had it in her to be sure, but she kept it hidden far beneath the surface.
“You had better hurry along to your bath,” she now advised. “By half-past seven the lavatory will become suddenly very popular.”
“I’m going this minute.” Marjorie had already donned a negligee and was hastily thrusting her feet into quilted satin slippers.
As she stepped from her room into the hall, a door on the opposite side, above the room occupied by Lucy and Ronny, swung open with a jerk. On the threshold appeared Natalie Weyman. She was evidently in a bad humor, for her heavy brows were sharply drawn in an ugly scowl. Her eyes happening to light on Marjorie, her face grew perceptibly darker. With a smothered exclamation, she disappeared into her room again, banging the door. She had not even attempted a “good morning,” but had stared at Marjorie as though she had never seen her before.
Not in the least impressed, Marjorie continued imperturbably toward the lavatory. She had made two discoveries, however. She knew now who had slammed the door on the previous night. She knew, too, that Natalie Weyman had no real feeling of friendliness toward her. She had heard enough from the three callers of the evening before to arraign them in her mind as leaning very hard toward snobbishness. If they were snobs, she wished to keep far away from them. Further, she had no intention of regarding Miss Weyman’s call as anything but a duty-prompted affair. Not one of the three young women had extended an informal invitation to the Five Travelers to visit them in their rooms. If the select Sans Soucians expected to see herself and chums go out of their way to please, they would be disappointed.