As the five had not heard the brief exchange of words between the stranger and the manager they impersonally concurred with Kathie. Again hustled into the roadster by Vera they soon dropped the subject of the beautiful arrival at the Hall for the more personal one of Miss Susanna’s gracious and unlooked-for help in the dormitory project.
Meanwhile, at Wayland Hall, Miss Monroe of London and Paris was lounging gracefully in a roomy willow rocker in the living room. She was appraising her surroundings through two limpid, but distinctly shrewd blue-green eyes and mentally ticketing them “not half bad.”
In her office Miss Remson was frowning as she industriously consulted her letter file for the desired correspondence. The perturbed manager was very certain that she had not agreed to admit Miss Monroe, or any other strange young woman, to Wayland Hall in the middle of the summer.
She gave a kind of annoyed cluck as she finally found the desired correspondence between herself and the newcomer’s father, who had signed his letters, “Herbert Cecil Monroe.” They had been written from a Paris address and had been accompanied by satisfactory references. In them, however, her permission had not been asked, nor had she agreed to admit the daughter of her correspondent to Wayland Hall before the formal opening of Hamilton College.
CHAPTER X.—AT THE ARMS
“Where is she, Jonas?” Marjorie raised a cautioning finger. She hardly breathed the question for fear of Miss Susanna’s proximity.
“She’s up in Mr. Brooke’s study, Miss Marjorie,” Jonas replied in equally guarded tones. Miss Susanna’s faithful retainer of years, the old man stood the center of the group of charming youthful visitors. He was smiling his vivid, crinkled smile as though he was thoroughly enjoying the invasion.
Contrary to expectation that Miss Susanna might be taking her accustomed stroll about the grounds after tea, the callers had reached the house without having seen sign of her. Jonas had answered their ring. He had come down the wide, thick-carpeted hall to the open door in his slow dignified fashion. His face had lighted beautifully at sight of the knot of bright-faced girls peering laughingly at him through the screen.
It was for Marjorie, however, that his smile was kindest. He shared Miss Susanna’s fondness for “our young lady.” The cordial handshake he gave her came straight from his worshiping heart.
“She’s in the study quite a bit of late. He would have liked that.” The old man nodded with conviction.