“I believe that Margaret Hamilton will be elected president,” predicted Dolly. “She is so tall and handsome, she would be such a magnificent president.”
“She knows it,” returned Beth dryly. “She has been posing for it ever since the term opened. She dresses for it, talks for it, and is always working for it–not openly, but in a hundred little subtle ways.”
“You don’t like Margaret.”
“Not to any great extent, I’ll confess. I would much rather see you class president.”
“Me? I haven’t any dignity, and you know it.”
“Well, you have other qualifications that are quite as desirable.”
“I’m out of the question, so stop talking about it. There goes Miss Hamilton now. I wonder why she always turns down that lane? It is a private one, you know, and I’m sure she has no permission to go to the house every day.”
“I’m positive she doesn’t even know the people,” Beth said, staring after her classmate. “I am consumed with curiosity. What do you suppose she does want, anyway?”
“I have not the faintest idea, and I really do not suppose that it concerns us, anyway. What do you think?”
“Don’t be snubby! Margaret Hamilton is queer in some ways, though none of you seem to have discovered it but myself.”