“The least that young savage could have done was to come back and see if there were any casualties,” Miss Hamilton burst forth abruptly as they entered the gateway of the Arms. She had now sufficiently recovered from the shock to feel belligerent toward the culprit. “A Hamilton girl, I suppose. Did you recognize her, Marjorie?”
“Yes; I know who she is,” Marjorie replied reluctantly.
“Very good. I shall report her to President Matthews,” announced Miss Susanna, wagging her head. “You are to tell me her name, or, better still, you and I will go together to his office and report her.”
Marjorie felt consternation rise within her. The last thing in the world she wished to do was to go to President Matthews’ office on such an errand, even with Miss Susanna. Quick as a flash came the reminder of the president’s threat to ban automobiles at Hamilton, made at the time of the accident to Katherine Langly.
“Miss Susanna,” she began impulsively, hardly knowing how to speak her mind without giving offense, “I know that girl who nearly ran you down deserves to be reported. She has the reputation of being a poor driver, and a very reckless one. Most of the Hamilton girls who drive cars are careful. Two years ago, Miss Cairns, the one who bought the properties from us, ran down Katherine. She was ill two weeks from the shock. She just missed having her spine permanently injured. She did not report Miss Cairns to President Matthews but——”
“And you think because Katherine was simpleton enough to allow a murderous act like that to go unpunished that I ought to do likewise,” supplied Miss Susanna in a whip-like tone of anger which Marjorie had never before heard her use. “You are——”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Susanna, I did not mean——” Marjorie re-commenced in a distressed voice.
“Listen to me.” The irate old lady held up her hand by way of command. “You are talking utter nonsense.” The last of the Hamiltons was not accustomed to being crossed. Shaken by her fall, she was now in a highly querulous state, common to those over sixty. “Not report that young heathen—ridiculous! This girl must be a friend of yours whom you are trying to shield. Certainly I shall report her. I hold it important to do so. You may know how important I consider reporting her when I propose going to your president myself. I—who have not set foot on the campus for years. I find I am not well enough to have you at the Arms to dinner this evening. I will bid you good afternoon. Set the basket on the steps.”
They had reached the broad flight of stone steps leading to the veranda of the Arms as the offended great-niece of Brooke Hamilton snapped out these pithy statements.
“Good afternoon, Miss Susanna.” The piteous light in Marjorie’s eyes changed to one of justly wounded pride. Very gently she set the basket on the top step and turned away. Her friendship with the last of the Hamiltons had terminated as abruptly as it had begun.