“Go ahead and discuss it,” imperturbably ordered Leslie.
“Why—you—perhaps, if you have a headache, I had better wait until another time,” deprecated the sophomore. It occurred to her that she ought to pretend solicitude. “I am so sorry,” she hastily condoled.
“Thank you. There is no ‘if’ about my headache. Get that straight. What? It won’t hinder me from listening to you. Let’s hear your remarks now and have them over with.”
“I have seen Dulcie,” began Elizabeth impressively, “and she has told me what happened the other night. Really, Leslie, I was shocked, simply shocked. Yet I couldn’t blame you in the least. The way Dulcie has talked about you on the campus is disgraceful. But I went over all that with you the day I first told you of how treacherous she had been.”
“Quite true. You did, indeed,” Leslie conceded with pleasant irony. “Now proceed. What next?”
“You are so funny, Leslie. You are so deliciously matter-of-fact.” Elizabeth was hoping the compliment would restore the difficult senior to a more equitable frame of mind.
“You may not always appreciate my matter-of-fact manner.” The ghost of a smile, cruel in its vagueness, touched Leslie’s lips.
“Oh, I am sure I shall. To go back to Dulcie, I hope you didn’t mention my name the other night. You promised you wouldn’t.”
“Is that what you have been so anxious to tell me?” Leslie asked the question with exaggerated weariness, eyes turned indifferently away from her companion.
“No; it is not.” Elizabeth shot an exasperated glance at her. “I merely mentioned it. Dulcie tried to make me take the blame for it the first time I met her after the meeting. I simply told her I had nothing to do with it whatever.”