“Oh, no. Please don’t misunderstand me. I didn’t mean—I meant—” stammered Blanche. “Of course, I know you wouldn’t. Will you come?” The question held a note of suppressed eagerness.
“Let me see. What have I to do after classes?” Ruth knitted reflective brows. “Yes, I’ll be there.”
“You’re a dear.” Blanche beamed patronizing thanks. Conversing as they walked, the two had now reached the main building of the Academy which contained the recitation rooms as well as the students’ dormitory. “I’ll leave you here,” she continued as they entered. “I’m going to my room. I have no first hour recitation, you know.”
“Good-bye.” Mechanically, Ruth uttered the words. Her mind had suddenly reverted to Emmy’s warning of the previous evening. “Blanche has an axe to grind,” rang in her ears. Almost gloomily she stood watching the auburn-haired solicitor of mysterious favors, as she mounted the broad staircase and disappeared down the hallway.
“What can she possibly want me to do for her?” soliloquized Ruth, half aloud. Intent on trying to guess the nature of the “great favor” which Blanche had emphasized as being “very important,” Ruth meandered aimlessly down the long corridor, and covered herself with confusion by opening the wrong door and calmly strolling into the French classroom where the recitation had begun. Apologizing, she hastily withdrew her obtrusive presence, giggling softly to herself as she closed the door. Having once trespassed, she paid strict heed to her wandering feet and made port in Physics II without further mishap.
In honor bound not to mention Blanche’s strange request to anyone, it was a matter of satisfaction to her when her last afternoon recitation was over. She was anxious to hold the interview with Blanche and dismiss it from her mind. During the day it had troubled her not a little. The more she thought of it, the less she could make of it. The very contemplation of it filled her with a vague discomfort, which she could not shake off.
“Come in,” drawled a languid voice when, at a few minutes past four, she knocked on Blanche’s door.
Obeying the call, Ruth entered, closing the door behind her. “I’m strictly on time,” she remarked with a gaiety she was far from feeling.
“So I see. Do sit in that comfy chair, Ruth.” Blanche was the acme of cordiality. Drawing a chair opposite to Ruth’s she sat down, staring pensively at her visitor. “I hardly know how to begin,” she sighed, with an artful assumption of diffidence warranted to deceive her straightforward caller. “It’s just like this. I’ve met with a dreadful disappointment. I expected to go to Cape May for the summer, but Mamma has been feeling so wretched of late, she has written me that her physician has ordered her to a sanatorium. Papa is going West on a long business trip, and it’s out of the question for me to go with him. I simply can’t stand the idea of spending my whole vacation at that horrible sanatorium. Besides, Mamma doesn’t wish me to be with her there. She says I make her so nervous, and that I’ll have to stay at home with our housekeeper and a stupid companion she intends to engage to look after me. I’d make Jean take me home with her, but she is going to Canada to visit her aunt, so she can’t entertain me.”
Blanche paused, her pale-blue eyes searching Ruth’s open features, as though to discover the precise amount of sympathy her dolorous tale had aroused. Her vis-a-vis appeared interested, and she thought the frank brown eyes expressed concern.