"Why not?" was the questioning chorus.
"Oh, I don't know, only I just don't care to. If I do, someone might say that I went into it because——" She hesitated, and the flush on her cheeks deepened.
"Because you expected Laurie to choose you, you mean," finished Jerry.
"Yes; that is what I meant," admitted Constance. "Of course, I know there are other girls who are better singers than I, and that I couldn't possibly be chosen. Still, I'd rather not go into it at all, unless I could just be in the chorus."
"You are a goose; a nice, dear goose, but a goose, just the same," was Jerry's plain sentiment.
"Connie Stevens, if you don't try for that part, I'll never speak to you again," threatened Muriel.
"I'll disown you," added Susan in mock menace.
"Connie," Marjorie's voice vibrated with sudden energy, "I think you ought to try for the Princess. I am almost sure no other girl in Sanford High can sing so beautifully. Then there is Laurie. He has always been nice to you. It would hurt his feelings dreadfully if you didn't try for a part in his operetta. Besides, I know it sounds hateful, but I can't help saying that I'd be glad to see you take the Princess away from Mignon. That is, if she really stands a good chance of winning it. I suppose that is what Miss Archer would call 'an ignoble sentiment,' but I mean it, just the same." Marjorie glanced half defiantly around the bright-eyed circle. They were now in Sargent's, seated about their favorite table.
"Hurrah for you, Marjorie!" cried Jerry, flourishing her hand as though it were a pennant of triumph. "That's what I say, too. You are really a human, everyday person, after all. I used to think you were almost too forgiving toward certain persons, but now I can see that you aren't such a model forgiver, after all."
"That is rather a doubtful compliment, isn't it?" laughed Marjorie.