“I’ll tell you something else. You’re an affable old fake, and I’ve been here just one-half hour longer than I intended to be.” Marjorie rose from the chair she had been occupying in Leila’s and Vera’s room. “I needed that half hour for a bout with a terrific bit of old French poetry. Now it’s gone—the hour, I mean. I wish the poetry was nil, too! And I’ve not opened my book! It’s almost dinner time, and after dinner we’re due at Silverton Hall to help Robin rehearse that house play. You hadn’t forgotten about it, had you?”
“I never forget anything I happen to remember,” was the re-assuring response.
“Then keep on remembering the Beauty contest,” begged Marjorie laughing. “This is Monday. I wish you could arrange it for Friday night. I’m so anxious for Miss Monroe to win it. It will strengthen her position on the campus.” Her lovely face grew suddenly serious. “You know so well the way I feel about her, Leila. I’d love to have her free herself from Leslie Cairns’ influence; to help her raise up a pride in herself that will place her above doing the contemptible things the Sans used to do.”
As she talked Marjorie’s voice took on a wistful earnestness which Leila found irresistible. She did not share Marjorie’s views concerning Doris Monroe. Nevertheless, Marjorie’s appeal to Leila for help in the difficult conquest of the more difficult sophomore was in itself sufficient cause for co-operation on Leila’s part.
“Watch the bulletin board tomorrow, and have no fears,” was Leila’s parting advice as Marjorie reached the door. “We shall meet again,” she added portentously.
“In about ten minutes; at dinner. And in my room, after dinner; and after that, on the campus; and still after that, at Silverton Hall,” flung back Marjorie over a shoulder as she went out the door. She ran lightly down the hall to her room, inspirited by Leila’s promise. She swung open the door with a gay little fling and entered to find Jerry deep in the perusal of a letter.
“I’m going to be one of the judges at the Beauty contest,” she breezily informed Jerry. “I forgot to ask Leila who she’d picked for the other two judges.”
“It’s a good thing for the Ice Queen that you are going to wear a disguise; efface your face from the college map for the time being,” Jerry commented, eyes still on her letter. “No judge rig-out for Jeremiah, I shall appear in all my fatal beauty. But I don’t expect to get a fair deal,” Jerry sighed loudly. “When is the momentous Beauty gathering to grace the gym?”
“Friday evening at eight.” Marjorie went on to recount hers and Leila’s recent conversation.
“You old politician. You’ve everything fixed for your candidate,” Jerry humorously accused. “What has become of the traditions of Hamilton? Shocking!”