“It—truly, Miss Cairns, it doesn’t make—” Marjorie colored with growing confusion.
“Oh, but it does. I want you to know, Bean—” It was Leslie who now turned very red. Before she could offer an abashed apology Marjorie’s merry laugh rang out.
“Please don’t.” She gaily warded off apology. “You can’t imagine how truly fond I’ve become of being called ‘Bean.’ It’s funniest of two or three pet names the girls have given me. Miss Macy has even composed some funny verses which she calls ‘Jingles to Bean.’”
“What?” A slow smile succeeded Leslie’s momentary air of uncertainty as to whether she had heard aright.
“You have a keen sense of humor, Miss Cairns,” Marjorie generously continued. “Your costume the other night showed your appreciation of funny things. You spoke of Miss Peyton. She was unfair with you at the dance. I was glad you walked away from her, and sorry that you should have been aggravated by her to the point of answering.” Marjorie tried to lead the subject away from intimate personalities. She disliked to make apologies. She disliked far more to receive them. She desired no promise of future rectitude from Leslie.
“Leila,” she addressed Leila’s clear-cut Irish profile, “have you heard that Miss Cairns was masked at the Romp?”
“I have not.” Leila slowly turned her face toward Leslie. “May I inquire what your costume was? I was not in the gym until a very few minutes before the unmasking,” she explained.
“I was just a farmer, blue overalls, gingham shirt and all that sort of thing,” Leslie described briefly. “I happened to get hold of a particularly silly-looking mask. That was the funny part of the costume.”
“And now I will tell you the funny part of your adventure.” Leila regarded the girl she had ranked as her pet aversion with a not unkindly glance. “I have heard nothing about you in connection with this funny-face farmer, but I have heard plenty of myself. It seems I had the credit for being that one. I was not on the floor while you were. I waited in my room so as to tease the girls. I had bet with a crowd of freshies that none of them could pick me out in that rustic mob.”
“Why, that,—” Marjorie began.