“I suppose the Sans are running in and out of your room a good deal,” Elizabeth returned enviously. “I wish I could live here. It makes me so cross when I think of that Miss Dean and those girls living here and I can’t get in. There will be a lot of girls graduated from here in June. I think I can make it next fall. What’s the use, though. You’ll be gone. It is on your account I’d like to be here. I think more of you, Leslie, than of all the rest of the girls put together.” Elizabeth simulated wistful regret. She had tried out that particular expression before the mirror until she had perfected it. It was useful on so many occasions.
“Do you truly think as much of me as you say, Bess, or are you simply talking to hear yourself talk?” Leslie carried out admirably a pretense of sudden earnestness.
“Why, of course, I care a lot about you, Leslie.” Elizabeth adopted a slightly grieved tone. “Think of how much you have done for me.”
“Oh, that’s all right.” Leslie dismissed the reminder with a wave of the hand. “I have a reason for asking you that question. I have one or two other questions to ask you, too. If you are my friend, and wish to continue to be my friend, you will answer them.”
“I certainly will, if I can,” was the glib promise.
“You can,” Leslie curtly assured. “First, who told you about my having received a summons to Matthews’ office on account of that accident to Langly last fall?”
“How do you know——” began the sophomore, then bit her lip.
“I know. There isn’t much goes on on the campus that I don’t know.” This with intent to intimidate. “I know who told you, for that matter.”
“I promised I wouldn’t tell. Still, if you say you know who it was, I believe you do.” Elizabeth hastily conceded, remembering her own interests. “You won’t let on that I told you?”
Leslie shook her head. “Trust me to be discreet,” she said.