“For goodness sake, Marjorie, will you kindly tell me what has happened?” Muriel Harding overtook Marjorie in the corridor on the way to her second morning recitation, fairly hissing her question into her friend’s ear.
Marjorie turned a concerned face to her. She wondered what new difficulty was about to besiege her. “What do you mean, Muriel?”
“I haven’t time to explain now. Here. Take these and read them. They were on my desk this morning. You’ll understand later what I mean. I’ll run over to your house on the way back to school this noon. Then we can talk. I’m so surprised I can’t see straight.” Thrusting two envelopes into Marjorie’s hand, Muriel left her and hurried on.
Placing the envelopes in the back of her text book, Marjorie proceeded slowly down the corridor to her own recitation in French. Resisting the temptation to examine their contents, she devoted herself strictly to the lesson. The next hour, which would be spent in the study hall, would give her ample time to look at them.
Returned to the study hall and free at last to learn the cause of Muriel’s agitation, she forced back the sharp exclamation of dismay that rose to her lips. Both envelopes were addressed; one to Muriel Harding, the other to Jerry Macy. Through the address on the latter a pencil had been drawn. Below the cancelled line it had been readdressed to Muriel. The writing on the one was Jerry’s. The cancelled script on the other was Lucy Warner’s. The re-addressing had been done by Jerry.
Marjorie’s heart sank. She was almost sure of the nature of the notes within. Bracing herself in the seat, she drew Jerry’s note from its envelope. It turned out to be exactly what she feared. Jerry had tendered her formal resignation to the club. Lucy Warner’s note contained the same information. It differed little from Jerry’s, save for one sentence in the latter’s note: “Kindly arrange to hold the club meeting at some place other than my home.”
An intensity of bitterness toward Mignon filled Marjorie’s heart as she fingered Jerry’s note. She resentfully laid the blame for the whole affair at the French girl’s door. Jerry, Lucy and herself had all been caught in the meshes of the net which Mignon had set for their unwary feet. Marjorie wrathfully vowed that she would expose Mignon’s malicious mischief-making at the meeting of the club on Thursday evening. She hoped the members would demand Mignon’s resignation. She deserved to be thus publicly humiliated. Yet the more she considered this revenge, the less it appealed to her. It savored too greatly of Mignon’s own tactics. She finally decided to ask Connie to go home to luncheon with her. They could then talk matters over and agree on some plan of action by the time Muriel appeared.
Although Marjorie had prudently eschewed note-writing since that fateful afternoon during her junior year when she and Muriel had come to grief over the latter’s note, she resolved for once to yield to temptation. Scribbling a few hasty lines to Constance, whose desk was not far from her own, she managed successfully to send the missive. Glancing over it, Constance’s eyes quickly sought Marjorie’s. A smiling nod of her golden head informed the writer of the note that Connie would not fail her.
That point definitely settled, Marjorie speculated gloomily regarding whether Jerry’s spleen would remain directed only against herself or whether she intended to desert from the sextette of girls to which she belonged. Would Muriel at once apprise Susan, Irma and Constance of Jerry’s resignation from the club, or would she not? Hardly knowing what to expect, it was a relief to Marjorie when, on entering the locker room at noon, she saw no sign of either the stout girl or the other members of the sextette. The latter she guessed were waiting outside school. One look at four solemn-faced girls collected together on the opposite side of the street revealed to her that Muriel had put her three friends in possession of the news.
“Oh, Marjorie,” she hailed. “Come here. After I spoke to you I decided to tell the girls about Jerry. It’s a good thing I did. She hardly spoke to Susan and Irma this morning. They didn’t understand, of course, and were dreadfully hurt.”