“You see,” Leslie continued with elaborate earnestness, “on St. Valentine’s night the juniors always give a masquerade ball in the gym. Before the dance the maskers walk around on the campus and kid one another and any one else who happens to cross the campus without a mask. Even the faculty are fair game for kidding. Some of us started to have a little fun with a prig of a junior by the name of Dean. We bothered her a trifle; nothing to speak of. We got away with it O. K., but we had a traitor in our own crowd. She told the biggest gossip on the campus about it. We held a club meeting, called her down and asked for her resignation. Then she put Prexy on our trail. We were all expelled from college only a few weeks before we would have been graduated. I might have saved myself—I don’t know.” Leslie put on a self-sacrificing air.
Doris’ earlier indifference had completely vanished with the knowledge that Leslie had been a student at Hamilton. Her interest increased as Leslie continued her narrative.
“If any such trouble had happened to me I’d never wish to see Hamilton College again,” was Doris’ view of the matter. “Most girls are so deceitful. I wouldn’t go to the pains to be. I think it’s snaky to be deceitful, even in little things.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” Leslie cheerfully concurred. “I’m glad you feel so about it. It is hard to find a really sincere girl whom one can trust.”
Doris was not specially impressed by Leslie’s remarks. Under her fairy-tale princess exterior she possessed a stolid side of character which did not respond to flattery. She knew she was beautiful. She did not need the assurance from others. She believed herself not deceitful. Leslie’s opinion of her sincerity did not matter.
“There’s a Miss Dean at Wayland Hall now,” Doris remarked, her interest still hovering over Leslie’s story of the hazing.
“That is the one,” Leslie said impressively. “I knew she was somewhere on the campus. I supposed she would be at Wayland Hall. All I have to say of her is—well——” Leslie made an effective pause. “I’d prefer to say nothing,” she ended with a sigh.
“I have met her, and the girls she goes with. One of them is of the faculty; four are post graduates. I do not like any of them,” Doris announced with flat finality. “I detest Miss Remson.”
A crafty gleam appeared in Leslie’s small dark eyes. Here was better luck than she had hoped for. “I understand the way you feel,” she nodded with deceitful sympathy. “I had three years at the Hall with Miss Dean and her bunch. It was more than enough for me. As for Remson——” Leslie spread her hands in a deprecatory gesture—“She’s hopeless.”
“I can’t endure her,” Doris agreed with more energy of tone than she had previously used. “She imagines herself of such importance. She is merely an upper servant.” The girl’s short upper lip lifted in scorn.