Seating herself on the wide oak bench, Marjorie took speculative stock of the new secretary. “What a stunning girl,” was her mental opinion. “She’s dressed rather too well for a secretary, though,” flashed across her as she noted the smart gown of white china silk, the very cut of which pointed to the work of a high-priced modiste. “I suppose she’s getting examination papers ready for the new pupils. I wonder why she doesn’t sit down.”
As she thus continued to cogitate regarding the stranger, the girl frowned deeply at another paper she had picked up and swung suddenly about. “Are you just entering high school?” she asked with direct abruptness.
“Oh, no.” Marjorie smilingly shook her head. “I am a junior.”
“Are you?” The stranger again lost herself in puzzled contemplation of the paper. Hearing an approaching footfall she made a quick move toward the center of the office, raising her eyes sharply to greet a girl who had come in quest of Miss Archer. Promptly disposing of the seeker, she returned to her task. Several times after that she was interrupted by the entrance of various students, whom she received coolly and dismissed with, “Not here. I don’t know when Miss Archer will return.” Marjorie noted idly that with every fresh arrival, the young woman continued to move well away from the desk.
Marjorie watched her in fascination. She was undoubtedly beautiful in a strangely bold fashion, but apparently very cold and self-centered. She had received the students who had entered the office with a brusqueness that bordered on discourtesy. Two or three of them, whom Marjorie knew, had greeted her in friendly fashion, at the same time mutely questioning with uplifted brows as to whom this stranger might be.
“This problem in quadratic equations is a terror,” the girl at the desk suddenly remarked, her finger pointing to a row of algebraic symbols on the paper she was still clutching. “Algebra’s awfully hard, isn’t it?”
“I always liked it,” returned Marjorie, glad of a chance to break the silence. “What is the problem?”
“Come here,” ordered the other girl. “I don’t call that an easy problem. Do you?”
Marjorie rose and approached the desk. The stranger handed her the paper, indexing the vexatious problem.
“Oh, that’s not so very hard,” was Marjorie’s light response.