“Not much. You say such a lot, Steve, it’s hard to keep track of your remarks. I heard you say something about the freshman frolic, and then something more—about a dummy,” Laura paused, a glint of malice in her pale eyes.
“You are—”
“I’m really listening this time,” Laura interrupted sweetly.
“You are going to be invited to the frolic by Miss Waters.” Stephanie had intended to tell Laura that she was detestable. Policy warned her to more impersonal speech. “Miss Ferguson has invited me.”
“You don’t seem to be crazy over the honor,” Laura fished for another chocolate.
“I’m not,” Stephanie declared pettishly. “Miss Ferguson is all right. I like her better than I like the rest of this Wayland Hall crowd. Hamilton is, and has been from the first, a disappointment to me. But then—I never wanted to come here.” She sank into a chair, frowning moodily.
“You didn’t?” Laura at last showed indication of interest. “Then why in Pete’s name did you make the gang think it was the only college on the map?”
“Because—” Stephanie flushed, “I wanted the gang with me,” she said lamely.
“We’d have gone with you to Smith, or Bryn Mawr—to any of the others you might have picked. None of us were crazy about Hamilton. We’d heard of it as a stiff-necked proposition, all tied up with Brooke Hamilton traditions. You said it led the rest socially; that it was a college of millionaires’ daughters,” she finished accusingly.
“That’s true; about the millionaires’ daughters,” Stephanie defended. “My father heard that the wealthiest men in the U. S. favor Hamilton as a college for their daughters. He was determined I should enroll at Hamilton; not because of that. He had another reason for wishing me to come here; a stronger one.”