“How did you ever manage to catch me?” was Jerry’s wondering query after she had laughed over the little book, which contained as many of the Bean jingles as the girls had been able to gather at the time when Jerry had improvised them.
“It was that afternoon on the campus when Leila had her camera and was taking pictures of the campus. She went out with it and you, on purpose. She planned with Marjorie to come over to the campus unexpectedly.”
“Do not you remember I said to you, ‘Since you are so glad to see Beauty then why do you not spout a jingle’!” Leila broke in, laughing. “While you were spouting it Vera walked off a little way with the camera and snapped the picture of our Jeremiah at the height of inspiration.”
“Yes, I remember now. You crafty things!” Jerry pretended disapproval for a brief second. “It’s celostrous,” she said. “I’d rather have it than even a citation in chapel. But I’ve had that. I’m really embarrassed with riches. I shall keep my Bean Jingle Book as my most precious possession. I shall—”
“Put it on your parlor table when you become Mrs. Daniel Seabrooke,” Muriel slyly supplemented.
“Who told you? Oh-h!” Jerry clapped a hand to her lips.
It was too late. She was surrounded by a buzzing, laughing, congratulatory mob.
Ronny stood back a little from the group watching the tumultuous reception of Jeremiah’s news with an odd little smile. She was wondering what her friends would say if they knew a certain dear secret of which she had been in wondering possession only a few days. Ronny had fulfilled Marjorie’s prediction. She had tumbled into love and with the last person she had dreamed she might come to care for.
Due to her love of dancing she had willingly consented to help Professor Leonard with his work as physical instructor at Hamilton by taking a class in folk dancing. Through her association with him she had learned to know and care for him. She had not believed, however, that he cared for her. Naturally secretive, she had never by a shade of tone or expression betrayed her secret to anyone. She had been deeply incensed with herself for having yielded to love in the least.
Then had come an afternoon when they two had been deep in planning the usual May Day procession on the campus. She had never known just how it all happened, except that he had told her the story of his early life. His mother, who had died in his boyhood, had been a Spanish Mexican. His father, a professor in a Mexican university, had been an American. From them he had inherited a desire to help the poor of the country of his birth. His one dream was to place himself financially in position where he might some day go about the welfare work of his heart. It would take years of self-denial and economy, but he was willing to work and wait.