CHAPTER XXI—MISUNDERSTOOD
“For goodness’ sake what brought you home in such a hurry?” Jerry came breezily into the room just before six o’clock to find Marjorie sitting by a window. In her hand was an open book. Her eyes were not fixed upon it. They looked absently out upon the brown sweep of campus. There was a pathetic droop to her red lips which Jerry did not miss.
“What’s the matter, Bean; dearie dearest Bean?” she commiserated, going up to Marjorie and dropping her hands sympathetically upon her chum’s shoulders.
“I—oh, Jeremiah, I just feel sad—that’s all.” Marjorie’s chin quivered suspiciously.
She had turned away from Miss Susanna feeling like a child who was being sent home for bad behavior. She had been entirely misunderstood. She had quickly realized the utter futility of attempting to make herself clear under the circumstances. So she had proudly accepted her dismissal.
“Tell your old friend, Jeremiah, all about it,” coaxed Jerry. She took her hands from Marjorie’s shoulders and employed them in drawing up a chair. Placing it directly opposite Marjorie she sat down, leaned far forward and beamed on her vis-a-vis with an ingratiating show of white teeth.
The ghost of a smile reluctantly crept to Marjorie’s lips. That particular expression of Jerry’s was irresistible. She reached out and gratefully patted Jerry’s hand.
“Thanks for the pat.” Jerry continued to beam. “Next we will hear your sad story. I believe you have been crying, Marjorie Dean!” she accused in sudden concern. “Tell me what and who made you cry and I will go forth on the war path!”
“You can’t, this time. It—was Miss Susanna.” Marjorie swallowed the rising lump in her throat and steadied her voice. “She misunderstood me. I can never go to Hamilton Arms again.”
“Good night! That is tough luck! Poor Marjorie; no wonder you feel all broken up.”