Miss Remson had bitterly offended Doris by paying no attention to her after she had snubbed the five Travelers. The wise little manager had decided to let the supercilious young woman work out her own salvation. She spoke courteously to Doris when she chanced to encounter her about the house, but not one word of pleasantry did she offer. Long experience with girl nature had taught her the value of such a course in a case where false pride, instead of good breeding dominated.
“Think of me!” Leslie leaned confidentially forward toward Doris. “I stood her and that baby-booby bunch of Be—er—Miss Dean’s friends for years. Of course I had a dandy pal. That helped a whole lot. Then the Sans, our club gang, were a zippy bunch. We all had cars at Hamilton. Some of the girls had two chug wagons apiece. Money was no object. There were scads of coin behind our gang. All the Sans’ governors were millionaires, most of ’em multi-millionaires, hitting the financial high spots.”
Stung by Doris’ criticism of her imitation of an English drawl Leslie had wisely dropped it. Instead, she began flavoring her remarks with slang by way of impressing her companion. Leslie had shrewdly appraised Doris during the luncheon. She now believed that she understood “Blondie” and would be able to manage her.
“I wanted my maid to come here with me, but my father wouldn’t let me have her,” pouted Doris. “Celeste would have been better company than a lot of stupid students.”
Leslie forgot the rôle she had essayed to play of light good humor. Her famous scowl, heavy and disfiguring showed itself. Blondie was not impressed by her slang, her troubles or her money. “You don’t want a maid at college,” she scoffed gruffly. “I wouldn’t be bothered with one, even coming here from Newport. I sent my maid on a vacation.”
“I wish Celeste were with me,” Doris obstinately repeated. As if determined to be contrary she continued. “There’s one girl at the Hall that I’d not call baby-booby. She is really distingué. I don’t recall her name. She said to me that she was born in Ireland and——”
“Leila Harper!” was Leslie’s interrupting exclamation. “She is clever as a wizard, and a terror. She’s crazy about Miss Dean and her gang. Look out for her. I don’t care to gossip, but perhaps I’d better tell you some things about that crowd. You ought to know them. After luncheon why not take a spin with me in my car? Maybe you’ve seen it. It’s white, and a dream. I’d love to have you come along.”
Leslie had forced back her rising irritation and turned pleasant again.
“Thank you, but——” Doris hesitated. She regarded Leslie with a thoughtful, innocent air which was a mask she assumed. Behind it she studied Leslie’s ugly, almost grotesque features and the expensive luxury of her costume. Self, the little inner deity Doris worshipped, bade her accept the invitation and enjoy the ride. If she did not approve afterward of Leslie it would be easy enough to snub her roundly. “I’ll come with you. It’s no end kind in you to ask me,” she accepted without enthusiasm.
“So glad to have you.” Leslie managed to keep sarcastic inflection out of her reply. She was already beginning to discover that Blondie was “certainly a selfish proposition.” Still, try as she might where could she have found another girl so well suited to her purpose?