Jerry was distinctly ill at ease, though she strove to be placidly agreeable. She was mentally ticketing their call as a “freeze-out.” She had already vowed within herself that this should be her last effort to cultivate this particular crowd of freshmen.
Marjorie, meanwhile, was trying to make pleasant headway against an intangible barrier. It had not been there on that first sunny morning of acquaintance.
In the midst of a lukewarm conversation concerning college matters, the door was suddenly flung open. A tall girl in a baby-blue silk kimono breezed in. She was well over the threshold before she took in the situation. With an “Oh, excuse me! Didn’t know you had company,” she bolted. The sarcastic emphasis on the word “company” brought a flush to the faces of the guests.
“Please don’t mind Gussie,” apologized Calista, looking vexed. “She has a habit of bolting in and out like a young hurricane. We are used to her. She is a fine girl, but sometimes she—” Calista broke off in confusion.
There was an embarrassing moment of silence, shattered by Marjorie’s clear purposeful tones.
“Since you have mentioned your friend, I should like to ask you if you know her grievance against us. We, Miss Macy and I, have thought she must have one. The way she spoke just now confirms it. We know of no reason for it. It is too bad. We have the very kindliest feeling toward the Bertram freshies.”
“There; what did I tell you?” Instead of answering Marjorie, Calista turned in triumph to Charlotte.
Charlotte nodded. “I think we had best tell Miss Dean the whole thing,” she declared. “You go ahead, Cally. I’ll put in the Selahs at the appropriate moments.”
“I will, and glad to get it off my chest.” Calista breathed a long sigh. “First, please tell me, did you say anything against us, Augusta Forbes in particular, on the evening at Baretti’s. Augusta’s the girl who was just here.”
“We spoke of you and the noise you were making, but only in amusement,” Marjorie returned with candor.