With the blue taxicab now in sight and her car close behind it Leslie began to speculate on Doris’ destination. “I’ll say she’s bound for eats; either at the Lotus, or the Ivy.”
“The Ivy it is?” she surmised triumphantly as the taxicab continued on down Herndon Avenue and up Linden Avenue. “I’ll watch her into the Ivy; then I think I’ll stroll in there, too. My guess—she’s on the campus, stuffing for her entrance exams. She’s certainly not visiting Remson or any other of the campus aggregation of frumps. I think it’s my duty to get acquainted with Blondie.”
CHAPTER XVIII.—A CONGENIAL PAIR
A satiric smile still lingered at the comers of Leslie Cairn’s unlovely mouth as she entered the Ivy in her careless, near-slouching manner. The irregular plainness of her features was more pronounced than usual by reason of the stunning afternoon frock she wore of expensive creamy buff material. Unlike the severe style of sports clothes she affected it had the feminine lure of soft folds and exquisite creamy buff Persian embroidery. Her full white throat rose gracefully from the round open neck. The very short sleeves would have shown a pair of well-rounded arms had she not worn long gloves to match her gown. Her French-heeled slippers of the same material as her gown and the silk embroidered hosiery of palest buff completed her “foolish rig” as she slangily dubbed it. She was without a hat and her hair had been waved and artistically dressed.
Doris had already settled herself at a side table in the tea room and was perusing the menu with an air of boredom. Leslie, advancing toward the other girl, decided that “Blondie” was as pretty as Bean, if not prettier. She saw triumphs ahead of the supposed freshie if she did not “flunk her exams.” Already a daring plan had entered her scheming brain.
As she dropped casually into the place at table directly opposite Doris the latter raised her eyes from the menu card. Very deliberately the strange greenish eyes took stock of Leslie. Leslie returned the survey with one equally prolonged. The two girls forgot etiquette and stared at each other like two curious children. Such they were; two children of impulse, both spoiled by neglect and indulgence.
“Pardon me,” Leslie broke the spell in the smoothest of tones. “I am sure I have met you before. Let me think.” She pretended to ponder. “Wasn’t it at the fancy dress ball Mrs. Russell Fennimore gave at her town house last March? It was a rather jolly affair. What?”
“No.” The monosyllable was decided. Leslie’s imported gown commanded a certain respect from Doris. “I am not yet in society,” she volunteered, not without interest. “I’ve not been presented at Court.”
“Oh-h!” Up went Leslie’s shaggy eye-brows. “You are English,” she placed flattering stress on the last word. “Isn’t that ripping?”
“No, I’m not English.” Doris sighed. “I wish I were. I’m of English descent, though.” She brightened a little.