“That need make no difference,” Marjorie composedly returned. “There are no persons other than ourselves and the servants in the house. You know how purely informal a spread must be in order to be a success.”
“I don’t enjoy spreads,” came the indifferent reply. “Besides sweets late in the evening are so hard on one’s complexion.” One of the blonde girl’s white, beautifully kept hands found the door and rested against the knob. Whether by accident or design was hard to say.
“I am sorry you do not care to come,” Marjorie said with the gentle courtesy which never seemed to fail her in the face of rebuff. “Pardon me for being so remiss. Let me introduce my friends and myself to you. Miss Remson has told us that you are Miss Monroe.”
The indifferent expression on the girl’s face appeared to increase rather than diminish. She merely stared at the group and said not a word. Marjorie felt uncomfortable embarrassment seize her. Nevertheless friendliness continued in her tone as she named her chums to the other girl. Miss Monroe had the grace to acknowledge the introduction. She nodded carelessly to each girl in turn, the air of furtive contempt which had visited her at sight of the callers returning.
“We should be glad to show you about Hamilton and the campus,” Vera rallied to Marjorie’s assistance. “We are visiting Miss Remson for a short time. We shall return to college in the fall and shall live at Wayland Hall. So we shall be your neighbors. Miss Harper’s and my room is 10. We are using our old room now, and it will be ours again when we come back in the fall.”
“I expect to try for the sophomore class.” Miss Monroe crested her golden head. “I hope to escape the odious freshman class. I detest the bare idea of being kept down. Thank you for your offer to show me about.” She favored Vera with an inconsequential smile.
“You are welcome.” Vera tried to keep reserve out of the response. She did not enjoy being snubbed, either.
“You are sure to like Wayland Hall. It is the oldest and has been reckoned as the favorite house on the campus.” Leila now broke into the conversation. “All of us except Miss Page have lived here since we entered Hamilton. We are P. G.’s.” Leila gave the information in a perfectly level tone. There was an inscrutable light in her bright blue eyes which Miss Monroe did not miss. She colored slightly and hastily looked away from Leila.
Her remarkable blue-green eyes wandered to Marjorie again and rested curiously upon her. In that instant’s survey she saw what she had not yet allowed herself to note. She saw a girl whose claim to great beauty was as strong as her own. The discovery did not contribute to her happiness, but she was too clever to allow even a shade of rising jealousy to cross her beautiful face.
“I suppose ‘P. G.’ stands for post graduate?” she returned with a questioning inflection. “I really know very little of American colleges. I am sure I shall find college such a bore. My father insists that I shall become a student of Hamilton. So tiresome in him!”