“I like her immensely,” Vera responded with a little emphatic nod. “I believe she has tried, harder than any other student who has ever enrolled at Hamilton, to conquer her faults. Leila feels the same, only she’s handicapped by a certain sardonic sense of humor.”
“It is the truth,” Leila affirmed solemnly, then she began to smile. “I look at her as she is now, and for the life of me I cannot help remembering the dance she led us for three years about the campus. And it is at her amazing reform that I am ignoble enough, at times, to grin. Only, I shall have a care to grin over it strictly in private,” she finished, her broad, humorous smile still in mischievous evidence.
“Just the same it is splendid in you to wish Leslie to be manager of the Playhouse.” Marjorie spoke with admiring warmth. “Think what it will mean to her, girls.” She turned to Jerry and Vera. “Her father will be so proud of her.”
“And think of the hard work it will save me,” Leila adroitly shunted off Marjorie’s compliment.
“Don’t try to slide out of your good deeds, Leila Greatheart. You’re the same slippery person, when it comes to that, you always were.” Marjorie made one of her funny little-girl rushes at Leila, arms widespread. She caught Leila about the neck and gave her a bear hug.
“Now I thought I had changed for the better.” Leila cocked her head to one side, looking down at Marjorie with her own particular quizzical air. “But you, Beauty, I see little sign in you of the sedate dignity of a Mrs. with a newly-acquired husband, and a manor house.”
“Bean is Bean,” Jerry cut in, “so much the same old Beanie that I was inspired to chant a jingle to her this afternoon.”
“Where then is the jingle?” Leila held out a demanding hand for a copy of it.
“Now you know perfectly well I never set down my works of genius. Apply to Marjorie for it. She got it before we both for-got it.”
“I saved it for you, Leila,” Marjorie assured.