“You’re too effusive to be sincere,” was Vera’s blunt opinion as the three started upstairs together.
Marjorie also had a good-will errand of her own to go on. Down stairs she quietly flitted and to the telephone. When she had finished a low-toned conversation with Robin Page at the other end of the line she hung up the receiver, clapped her hands childishly and ran upstairs, a demure little smile playing upon her lips.
Following Augusta Forbes’ bitter cup of the afternoon the “blow-out” given in her honor by P. G.’s at Baretti’s was an unexpected and effectual balm to her wounded spirit. It was a very jolly dinner, made thus by the handful of democratic girls who had “been through the Wars of the Campus,” as Jerry announced in proposing a toast to the new sophomore president. Nor had their prompt upholding of Augusta been without effect on the several groups of girls who were also dining at the restaurant. At the Colonial the sophomore ringleaders in the ignoble attempt to down Gussie were dining Doris Monroe and hotly discussing ways and means by which their faction might gain the upper hand in sophomore affairs despite the loss of the presidency on the part of their choice.
Doris, in an exquisite frock of orchid tissue with a huge bunch of real pinky-lavender orchids trailing across one bare shoulder looked more like a fairy-tale princess than ever. Some of the sophs had even begun to call her the Princess. Nor could she know that Marjorie’s flattering fancy of her, repeated to one of the Wayland Hall freshman by way of admiring Doris’s undeniable beauty, was the source of the pleasing title. What Doris did know was that she had begun to crave popularity. She was having her first taste of the sweeping impetuous admiration of the American college girl. Under an air of sweetly-smiling but still indifferent amiability Doris was reaching greedily out for popularity. It would not be her fault if she should not gain it.
The crowning bliss of having faithful friends came to Gussie that night after she and her genial adherents had returned to Wayland Hall and she was in her room telling the details of the afternoon’s fray to her curious chums. Under her window, sudden and sweet, the stately Hymn to Hamilton rose, more beautiful than ever by reason of the utter harmony of musical instruments and voices.
With one accord the five girls rushed to the two windows and opened them. Not one word did they speak, simply leaned across the sill and listened. When the hymn ended they applauded softly. The singers in the darkness below followed the hymn with one of Nevin’s songs without words, vocalizing it perfectly. Then came “Appear Love At Thy Window,” and last, “Good Night: God Guard You.”
As the final line of the tender old song ended Gussie leaned far out the window and said in quiet, purposeful tones: “Thank you, everyone. You can’t know how much you’ve done for me. I’ll try harder than ever to live up to my Alma Mater.”
From other windows on that side of the house girls were leaning, hurried to them by the harmonic sounds. In the room occupied by Muriel and the “Ice Queen” Doris Monroe had just entered. She was occupied in placing the bunch of orchids in water when the music began.
“What is it?” she languidly inquired as Muriel raced to a window and raised it.
“Serenade party. They are serenading Miss Forbes.” Muriel’s eyes danced as she gave the information.