“I like her myself better than I used to,” was Leila’s careful answer.
“Have you—”
Doris did not finish. The door was flung open and a breezy, delighted shout of “Leila Greatheart!” ascended as Muriel Harding rushed upon Leila and hugged her. “Welcome to our cubicle! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to see me?”
“I cannot tell a lie. I didn’t come here to see you at all, at all. I came to see Miss Monroe. Now I must be going. You may both come to see Midget and me this evening.”
“Oh, I can’t—that is—not this evening,” Doris protested weakly. She dearly wished to accept the invitation.
“She means she won’t come if I do,” Muriel cheerfully supplied. Muriel’s tone did not accord with her feelings. She was actually hurt, but gamely refused to show it.
“I meant nothing of the sort,” Doris contradicted. Instantly she reflected that she had meant precisely that. “I beg your pardon,” she addressed Muriel stiffly. “I did mean that. I don’t now. I will come this evening, Miss Harper.”
“Good night! I shall expect you both.” Leila flashed out of the door, hurriedly closing it after her. Left to themselves the two girls might effect an understanding. She knew that Muriel was still vague as to why Doris had suddenly turned against her.
“Suppose we have it out this time, just to see how wrathful we can be,” Muriel proposed, a shade of satire in the proposal. “That’s the only way I know to break up a situation that’s been hard on both of us. I’ve always thought the wires were crossed somewhere in Harding’s and Monroe’s last fight, but I couldn’t prove it. Harding’s and Monroe’s last fight! Doesn’t that sound thrilling? It makes one think of Indians, cowboys, rattlesnakes, buffaloes, prairies and—geese,” she ended with a laugh.
“I hope it will be Harding’s and Monroe’s last fight,” Doris said with sudden energy. “I know now that a certain other person was to blame for most of it. I know that you were not trying to be kind to me or belittle me. I’m not so sure about Miss Dean.”