CHAPTER XIV
THE COMMON FATE OF REFORMERS
Nevertheless the session behind closed doors had one beneficial effect. It broke the ice that had lately formed over the long comradeship of the two girls, and, although nothing was as of old, they were both secretly relieved to still be on terms of conversation. Out of pure regard for Mary, Marjorie treated her exactly as she had always done, and Mary pretended to respond, simply because she had determined that Mr. and Mrs. Dean should not become aware of any difference in their relations. She affected an interest in planning for the party and kept up a pretty show of concern which Marjorie alone knew to be false. Privately Mary's deceitful attitude was a sore trial to her. Honest to the core, she felt that she would rather her chum had maintained open hostility than a farce of good will which was dropped the moment they chanced to be alone. Still she resolved to bear it and look forward to a happier day when Mary would relent.
The invitations to the party had been mailed and duly accepted. Much to Mary's secret surprise and chagrin, Mignon had not declined to shed the light of her countenance upon the proposed festivity, but had written a formal note of acceptance which amused Marjorie considerably, inasmuch as the acceptances of the others had been verbal. Despite her hatred for Marjorie Dean and her friends, Mignon had resolved to profit by the sudden show of friendliness which, true to their compact, the five girls had lost no time in carrying out. Ignoble of soul, she did not value the favor of these girls as a concession which she had been fortunate enough to receive. She decided to use it only as a wedge to reinstate herself in a certain leadership which her bad behavior of last year had lost her. She had no idea of the real reason for their interest in her. She preferred to think that they had come to a realization of her vast importance in the social life of Sanford. Was not her father the richest man in the town? She had an idea that perhaps Mary Raymond might be responsible for her sudden accession to favor. She had taken care to impress her own importance upon Mary's mind, together with certain vague insinuations as to her wrongs. After her first brief outburst against Marjorie and Constance Stevens, she had decided that she would gain infinitely more by playing the part of wronged innocence. When she received her invitation she had already heard that Constance was in New York and likely to remain there for a time. This influenced her to accept Marjorie's hospitality. Her own consciousness of guilt would not permit her to go to any place where she would meet the accusing scorn of Constance's blue eyes. Then, too, she had still another motive in attending the party. She had always looked upon Lawrence Armitage with eyes of favor. He had never paid her a great deal of attention, but he had shown her less since the advent of Constance Stevens in Sanford. She resolved to show him that she was far more clever and likable than the quiet girl who had taken such a strong hold on his boyish interest, and with that end in view Mignon planned to make her reinstatement a sweeping success.
Friday afternoon was a lost session, so far as study went, to the Sanford girls who were to make up the feminine portion of Marjorie's party.
"Good gracious, I thought half-past three would never come!" grumbled Jerry Macy in Marjorie's ear as they filed decorously through the corridor. "Let's make a quick dash for the locker-room. I've a pressing engagement with the hair-dresser and I'm dying to get through with it and sweep down to dinner in my new silver net party dress. It's a dream and makes me look positively thin. You won't know me when you see me."
"You're not the only one," put in Muriel Harding. "You won't be one, two, three when I appear to-night in all my glory."
"Listen to the conceited things," laughed Irma Linton. "'I won't speak of myself,' as H. C. Anderson beautifully puts it."
"Who's he?" demanded Jerry. "I know every boy in Sanford High, but I never heard of him."
A shout of laughter greeted her earnest assertion.
"Wake up, Jerry," dimpled Susan Atwell. "H. C. stands for Hans Christian. Now does the light begin to break?"