After spending an hour with Miss Hamilton in the sitting room Marjorie went up stairs to the study. There, with Brooke Hamilton’s deep-blue eyes upon her, she wrote her semi-weekly letter to Hal. She loved best to write to him in the quietness and peace of the room where she had learned the truth of her love for him because of Brooke Hamilton’s disappointment and sorrow.
“I am going to work on your story again before long,” she whimsically promised the portrait of the founder of Hamilton College as she settled herself at the antique library table to write to Hal. “I haven’t forgotten you, but for a while I must leave you and work for your college.”
It was with a feeling of glad exultation which brought a starry brightness to her eyes and a deeper tide of rose to her cheeks that she left Jerry at Wayland Hall after luncheon and went on with a springy, happy step to stately Hamilton Hall. She had already telephoned a telegram to the telegraph office in the town of Hamilton. The telegram was to Leslie, at her apartment in Central Park West, New York City. She had confidently worded it: “Come to Hamilton at once. Important. Wire day and train. Marjorie.”
Her interview with President Matthews was brief but eminently satisfactory. It resulted in the arrangement that on whatever day Leslie Cairns should arrive in Hamilton she should be escorted to President Matthews’ office by Marjorie, there to hear the good news from the head of the college himself.
As she went down the steps of Hamilton Hall she had hard work to keep from setting off across the campus at a frisky run. She decided with a smile dimpling the corners of her red lips that the dignity of the occasion forbade it. When within a few yards of the Hall, however, dignity ceased to count. She sped high-heartedly across the short thick campus grass to the steps, intent only upon seeing her chums and laying her kindly plan before them.
“You had better make up your mind to stay here to dinner this evening, children,” Miss Remson offered this advice to Marjorie and Jerry shortly after Marjorie’s arrival. To the great disappointment of both girls not one of the Wayland Hall Travelers was at home. “Call up the other Travelers and tell them to come, too. Then you can go into your old room, 15, and discuss the initiation of Leslie Cairns. I must say it is the very last thing I should suppose might happen.” The little manager’s tone was one of accepted wonder at such a state of affairs.
“Hasn’t 15 been taken yet?” Jerry cannily fished for information.
“Not yet.” Jerry surprised an odd, wise, bird-like gleam in the little manager’s kindly eyes which she knew of old to mean that Miss Remson had a secret she was shrewdly guarding. “A senior I know has the refusal of it. She has not decided upon it yet. I had two applications yesterday for it. I wish you and Marjorie were to have it this year. Now girls, go and do your telephoning. I must see the cook about the dinner.” Miss Remson bustled off in her alert, brisk manner.
“There’s some kind of mystery afoot about old 15,” Jerry surmised shrewdly. “You can’t fool Jeremiah. She has what Leila calls ‘the seeing eye.’ I can see all right enough that Miss Remson has something on her mind about our old fond, familiar hanging-out place that she isn’t ready to tell us. When she does get ready to talk about it, it will be some surprise, Bean; some surprise.”