CHAPTER XIX—THE SIGN
It still lacked half an hour until school opened on Monday morning when an anxious-eyed little girl ran up the long stone steps to the building and steered a straight course for Miss Archer’s office. Marjorie felt that she could not settle her mind on her studies until she had held an interview with Lucy Warner and ascertained the cause of her strange behavior. She, too, had a disheartening conviction that Mignon was responsible for it. She believed, however, that she could soon disabuse Lucy of whatever false impressions she now held.
“Good morning, Lucy,” she called out cheerily as she entered the pleasant living room office. She had spied the secretary at the typewriter desk, her head bent low over her work.
Lucy made no response to the salutation, neither did she raise her head. A slow color stole into her pale cheeks, but she stubbornly riveted her eyes on the letter she was typing.
Her own color rising, Marjorie boldly approached the belligerent secretary, halting a little to one side of her. With quiet directness she said: “Lucy, what has happened? Why are you angry with me?”
Slowly raising her head, Lucy eyed Marjorie with patent scorn. “Will you kindly go away and leave me alone?” she requested icily.
“No, I will not.” Marjorie stood her ground. “I asked you a fair question; I deserve a fair answer.”
“I have nothing to say.” Lucy presented the uncommunicative appearance of a blank wall. Marjorie could not possibly know how much effort it cost Lucy to maintain this attitude. Secretly she was longing to pour forth all that Mignon had told her. Too late, she bitterly regretted her rash promise. Marjorie’s grieved look seemed too real to doubt. Away from her, Lucy could believe her guilty of treachery. Face to face, it was another matter.
Yet Mignon had given her undeniable proof of Marjorie’s duplicity. She could not overlook that. This dark recollection put her brief impulse toward softening to flight. Her own wrongs looming large before her, the many benefits she had received at Marjorie’s hands were forgotten. Overridden by blind suspicion she allowed the ignoble side of her nature to spring into play. With deliberate cruelty she now said: “Miss Dean, you are seriously interfering with my work. I have no more time to spend in useless argument.” Gathering up a sheaf of papers from her desk, she rose and stalked toward the inner office, a stiff little figure of hostility.
With a sigh, Marjorie turned and walked dejectedly off in an opposite direction. Strangely enough she felt more sorry for Lucy than for herself. Her conscience entirely clear of wrong doing, she knew that poor Lucy was in the clutch of some dire misapprehension regarding herself which Mignon La Salle had instilled into her suspicious mind. What to do next the perplexed lieutenant did not know. It was useless to go to Mignon. She would undoubtedly profess absolute ignorance of the cause of Lucy’s grievance. Jerry was still to be reckoned with. It now looked as though her captain’s prophecy regarding Mignon was about to be fulfilled. Perhaps, after all, it would be best to allow Jerry to carry out her threat of holding a special meeting of the Lookouts to decide Mignon’s fitness for further membership.