“Goldie to the rescue. Thank you, good pal.” Leslie flashed her a grateful glance. “I can fight my own fights. I’m not exactly crazy to get into the limelight here at the Hall, on my father’s account. Still, I am not an ex-student who came back a doormat,” she declared with dry significance.
She rose, smiled her slow smile at her companions and walked to the door. “See you later,” she nodded. She opened the door and was gone.
“Oh, goodness.” Muriel collapsed into a chair, self-vexation plainly evident on her pretty features. “I shouldn’t have made that slip about the Sans. I am afraid I’ve hurt Leslie’s feelings.”
“No, you haven’t.” Doris shook a positive head. “I know Leslie better than you. She’s worried about something; probably about Miss Remson. She is afraid, that, if Miss Peyton should begin gossiping about her, Miss Remson might be blamed for admitting her again to the Hall to board. That’s why I just said to her that I’d fight for her.”
“So will Miss Remson. She can fight her own battles, and Leslie’s too,” was Muriel’s quick assurance.
In Room 15 Leslie was at that moment dejectedly considering the very contingency Doris had mentioned to Muriel. Out of her long leadership of the Sans Soucians she had derived at least one benefit. She had learned to read character with surprising accuracy. A few days residence at Wayland Hall had put her in possession of the knowledge that Mildred Ferguson, rather than Julia Peyton, was the real promoter of the Orchid Club. Leslie had taken reflective stock of the self-assured smartly-attired freshman. Julia would be the club president in name only. Mildred would be the real power behind the throne. Mildred reminded her of Lola Elster, an ingrate whom she had boosted to campus popularity in the old days. Lola had had one commendable trait, however. She had ever tended strictly to her own affairs. Nor could any one persuade her to join any kind of campus conspiracy. She had “played safe” invariably to a disloyal degree. Mildred resembled her only in point of selfishness.
Leslie shrewdly rated Mildred as quarrel-seeking and gossiping, provided she might gain by adopting such a course. She was more formidable than Julia because she had a deceiving, attractive air of good-fellowship which she kept well over her hard, self-seeking nature.
What Leslie longed now to do was to make friendly overtures to Mildred before she should succeed in egging shallow, spiteful Julia Peyton on to “stir up a big fuss at the Hall.” Leslie was satirically confident that she could, if she should try, quickly and effectually grow chummy with Mildred because of Peter Cairns’ millions. She could soon influence Mildred to desert Julia’s banner and enlist under hers. Mildred had already exhibited calculating signs of friendliness toward her.
Leslie somberly considered the idea from all sides, and shook a stern head. That was the easy way; the way made possible by money. It was the way she had always taken in the past. It had invariably brought her chagrin and failure. Now the rocky road of democracy must be her choice. Already she foresaw a condition of snobbery sprouting at the Hall which was similar to the one which Marjorie Dean had once fought to uproot.
“You are in for trouble, Cairns II,” she said aloud. “You can’t go placidly along about what you think is your business. Your business is to stand up for democracy—the way Marjorie Dean has always stood up for it. This Orchid crowd is going to give an imitation of the Sans at the Hall. I can see that. They need a change of policy. I’ll have to try to supply it—in the right way.” She laughed mirthlessly. “The right way” promised to be a rocky road indeed.