“I can’t blame her much,” Marjorie shook her head. “It’s dreadful to think that someone you’ve trusted is dishonorable. It hurts a good deal worse than if it were someone you had expected would fail you. I know.”
“I suppose you do.” Jerry understood the significant “I know.” Rather more gently she continued: “Perhaps you’re right about Fightena, I mean Row-ena. You generally are right, only you’ve got into some tangled webs trying to prove it. Anyway, she won’t be a junior if she does manage to get into school. She’ll be a sophomore. I hope she stays where she belongs. You’d better look out for her, though. If she really thinks you wrote that anonymous letter—I don’t believe she does—she’ll try to get even. With Mignon La Salle to help, she might bother you a good deal. I hope they have a falling out.”
“You are always hoping some terrible thing,” laughed Marjorie. “You have the hoping habit, and your hopes about other people are really horrifying.”
“Never mind, they never amount to much,” consoled Jerry with a chuckle. “I’ve been hoping awful things about people I don’t like for years and that’s all the good it’s ever done.”
“I think I’ll run over to Gray Gables after school,” Marjorie changed the subject with sudden abruptness. “Want to go with me?”
“I’ll go,” assented Jerry. “I owe Charlie a box of candy. I promised it to him the night of Mary’s farewell party. Mary wrote me a dandy letter. Did I tell you about it?”
“No. I’ve had one from her, too; eighteen pages.”
“Some letter. Mine was only ten.”
The introduction of Mary’s name into the conversation kept the two girls busy talking until they were about to part company.
“Don’t forget you are going with me to see Constance,” reminded Marjorie as Jerry left her at the Macys’ gate.