“Can you work it out?” came the short inquiry, a note of suppressed eagerness in the questioner’s voice.
“Why, I suppose so. Can’t you?”
“I was trying it before you came in just for fun. I’ve forgotten my algebra, I guess. I don’t believe I got the right result. It’s rather good practice to review, isn’t it?”
“She must be a senior,” sprang to Marjorie’s mind. Aloud, she agreed that it was. “I ought not to have forgotten my algebra,” she added. “It’s only a year since I finished it.”
“See if you think I did this right, will you? I’m curious to know.” The stranger thrust into her hand a second paper, covered with figures.
Marjorie inspected it, feeling only mildly interested. “No; you made a mistake here. It goes this way. Have you a pencil?”
The pencil promptly forthcoming, the obliging junior seated herself at a nearby table and diligently went to work. So busy was she that she failed to note the covert glances which her companion sent now and then toward the door. But, during the brief space of time in which Marjorie was engaged with the difficult equation, no one came. Altogether she had not been in the office longer than fifteen minutes. To her it seemed at least half an hour.
“Here you are.” She tendered the finished work to the other girl, who seized it eagerly with a brief, “Thank you. I can see where I made my mistake when I have time to compare the two.” With a smile, which Marjorie thought a trifle patronizing, she carelessly nodded her gratitude. Laying the printed examination sheet on a pile of similar papers, she placed a weight upon them and walked gracefully from the office, taking with her the two sheets of paper, bearing the results of her own and Marjorie’s labor.
Another fifteen minutes went by. Still no one came, except a student or two in quest of Miss Archer. Marjorie decided that she would wait no longer. She would come back again that afternoon, before the second session opened. It was almost noon. Were she to return to the study hall just then, it meant to court the caustic rebuke of Miss Merton. The locker room offered her a temporary refuge. Accordingly, she wended her steps toward it.
“Where were you that last period?” demanded Jerry Macy, coming up behind her as she stood at the mirror adjusting her rose-weighted hat.