It was a fairly long walk to Gray Gables, but their way led through one of the prettiest parts of Sanford. Situated almost on the outskirts of the town, the picturesque dwelling was in itself one of the beauty spots of the thriving little city.
“There’s the Jail.” Jerry indexed a plump finger toward the inhospitable stone house which Marjorie had so lately visited. The two girls had reached the point where a turn in the wide, elm-shaded avenue brought them within sight of the La Salle and Farnham properties. “It would be a good place for Row-ena, if she had to stay locked up there. She could think over her sins and reform without help. I hope——”
“There you go again,” laughed Marjorie. “Don’t do it. Suppose some day all these things you have hoped about other people were to come back to you.”
“I won’t worry about it until they do,” Jerry made optimistic answer. “If I——” She checked herself to stare at a runabout that shot past them, driven at a reckless rate of speed by an elfish-faced girl. “There they go!” she exclaimed. “Did you see who was in that machine? Oh, look! They’re slowing up! Now they’ve stopped! I hope they’ve had a breakdown.”
Marjorie’s eyes were already riveted on the runabout which they were now approaching. A tall figure whom she at once recognized as belonging to Rowena Farnham was in the act of emerging from the machine. Hatless, her auburn head gleaming in the sun, her black eyes flaming challenge, she stood at one side of the runabout, drawn up for battle.
“She’s waiting for us!” gasped Jerry. “Let’s turn around and walk the other way, just to fool her. No; let’s not. I guess we can hold our own.”
“I shall have nothing to say to her,” decided Marjorie, a youthful picture of cold disdain. “Don’t you say a word, either, Jerry. We’ll walk on about our own business, just as though we didn’t even see her.”
Jerry had no time to reply. Almost immediately they caught up with the belligerent Rowena. Realizing that her quarry was about to elude her, she sprang squarely in front of them with, “Wait a minute. I’ve something to say to you.” The “you” was directed at Marjorie.
Marjorie was about to circle the lively impediment and move on, when Mignon La Salle called from the runabout, “I told you she was a coward, Rowena.” A scornful laugh accompanied the insult.
That settled it. Marjorie’s recent resolution flew to the winds. “I will hear whatever you have to say,” she declared quietly, stopping short.