“Fun,” snapped Pat.
“Of what sort?” persisted Trixy.
“Oh, every kind. We can’t exactly effect riots in this retreat,” mocked Pat, “but we might get up some highly interesting rows. There’s nothing like a real, tip-top scrap to set the feathers flying.” An anticipatory chuckle gave warning of Pat’s active intentions.
“But really, Trix,” spoke up Gloria, “I have no idea of making a martyr of you on my account. You don’t belong in our baby class and we all know perfectly well that the other girls are crazy to get you in their set, but well, I don’t blame them really, for not wanting to bother with me.”
A ripple of delicious laughter was Trixy’s reply.
“Oh, if you feel that way about it——” began Pat merrily.
All this time Mary appeared to be listening abstractedly. Gloria’s face was serious, with quite an unusual expression for her, but Mary always serious, now seemed actually depressed. The late November day was warm and glowing as any in October, and shadows shot through the giant pine, making murky haloes about the heads beneath. Altogether conditions conspired toward plots and intrigue. It had taken just that long for the usual hikes, lake pleasures, tennis and such sports to lose their interest, and now with the brisk, crisp air of winter’s foreshadow, the pupils at Altmount, naturally, swung to more original forms of recreations.
Pat had been doing most of the talking since Jean so pointedly gathered her chums to other stamping grounds. Of course, Trixy did her best to banish Gloria’s ill humor, the result of that remark from Jean concerning Hazel’s and Gloria’s mannerisms, but the cloud was still there, just as Mary’s moody aloofness was more pronounced as she attempted to hide it.
“Then we’re to have a clan,” repeated Pat. “We’ll ask all the girls who are not manacled to Jean’s ankles.”
“Really, Pat, it wouldn’t be fair to take Trixy from the seniors,” interrupted Gloria.