A reverberating peal of the door bell cut short her discourse. Every pair of bright eyes became questioningly directed toward the sound. Was it their graceless treasurer who now demanded admittance? Followed a moment of expectant waiting, then a maid appeared in the curtained doorway of the library in which the Lookouts were gathered.
“Here’s a note for you, Miss Muriel,” she announced as she stepped into the room. Delivering it into Muriel’s hand she promptly disappeared.
“Humph!” ejaculated Muriel as she stared at the tiny, pale gray envelope. “By your leave, Lookouts,” she added with a nod to her friends. Tearing open an end of the envelope she drew forth its contents. A frown of displeasure knitted her brows as she scanned the unexpected message. Raising her eyes from it she said: “This note is from Mignon La Salle. I will read it to you. She writes:
“‘Miss Harding:
“‘I have decided not to attend the further meetings of the club. I shall still hold my office as treasurer. If you wish to consult me on business matters or desire to draw upon the treasury for checks with which to meet the various current expenses, kindly write me at my home. From time to time, I shall send you my official report.
“‘Yours truly,
“‘Mignon La Salle.’”
“This is the last straw,” declared Muriel grimly. “It seems to me that our duty is plain.”
“I am of the same mind.” Marjorie Dean’s decided tones sent a little thrill over her listeners. It was evident to all that her limit of endurance had been reached. “I move,” she continued with calm finality, “that Irma write Mignon La Salle stating that we accept her note as a resignation from the Lookouts and request her to turn over the club’s books, now in her possession, to our president Muriel Harding.”