“Only Patricia is so much nicer and Pat is perfectly jolly,” declared the Grecian descendant. “I should abhor Harriet; though Harry isn’t so bad.”
Gloria quickly found interest in Pat. She was almost red headed and almost blue eyed, losing out by a mere shade in each instance. She talked a lot and laughed a lot, but plainly was no poser. Taking a place beside Gloria at table, Pat kept up a running fire of talk that saved the new girl from any possible self consciousness. At another table Trixy was trying to be pleasant with a girl of very different personality. She (the other girl) raised her eyebrows instead of uttering replies, she shrugged her shoulders haughtily and seemed insipidly affected.
“The girl without a smile,” Gloria was promptly dubbing the ashen blonde. Trixy, sitting near enough, was flashing secret messages back to Gloria agreeing with the above. She was not having a very good time with the smileless girl, that was obvious.
Miss Alton sat at the head of the table, radiating good will. It was so important that her girls all become acquainted auspiciously. Although a small school, Altmount claimed the distinction of “finishing,” so that a sprinkling of high school graduates, and a few who failed to win the honor, were to be found among those present.
Both Trixy and Gloria were covertly taking notice of as many girls as politeness afforded glances at. There was, of course, a bevy of “Gabbies” who scarcely paused to swallow, also, like the girl without a smile, there were those who held off, looked important and posed for impressions. This might have been their honest prerogative, but somehow it seemed to natural, naïve Gloria, a bit affected.
“I do hope you’ll like it,” bubbled Pat. “We need a few good sports and I’m sure you’re one. There’s room for more fun here if we only have the workers.”
“I like fun,” admitted Gloria. “And yes, I guess I am used to it.” Her brown eyes sent out a sparkling guarantee.
After tea the girls paired off and strolled about the grounds. Pat “grabbed” Gloria, and both being of the younger set their romping went unscrutinized. Trixy, the imperturbable, seemed determined to provoke something like a smile from the reserved Mary Mears, but her good natured and tactful attempts were far from being successful. Mary Mears was wise, any one could see that. Her experience stood out like a wall, neither to be climbed over nor broken through. She was pretty but her skin betrayed traces of the applied arts, while her really wonderful violet eyes worked like magnetos. All this attracted Trixy. Any one so totally different offered her a working problem, something to find out, to analyze and, mayhap, to conquer.
The September evening was quickening into shadows when the students turned back to the broad verandahs and cozy porch corners.
“Hear that?” Pat asked Gloria. “That’s Jack Corday. She never stops talking and never says a sensible thing. Flashy,” criticised the jolly one. “Just notice her get up. But she’s a dear.”