“All right.” Ruth followed Frances, who had already reached the head of the staircase. In her hand were two other letters, addressed to herself, which she had extracted from the bulletin board along with Marian’s. All three were as yet unopened. Her mind occupied for the moment with the receipt of her cousin’s letter, she had paid no attention to the others, beyond noting that they were for her. Now as she climbed the stairs, she examined them, emitting a little cluck of surprise as she recognized the script on one of them. Tearing open the envelope as she walked, she drew forth a single sheet of heavy gray note paper and read:
“Dear Ruth:
“Will you come to my room at eight o’clock this evening? I wish to discuss with you a matter of some importance.
“Sincerely yours,
“Evelyn Drexal.”
“What can it be?” mused Ruth, half aloud. “Something about the Camp Fire, perhaps.”
Arrived at her room, she entered, exclaiming: “Here’s Marian’s answer, Emmy! I haven’t opened the letter yet. I thought I’d wait a little. I’ve asked the girls to meet us here as soon as Betty and Anne come in. They are out shopping. I ought to have consulted you first, though. I see you are busy.”
“Only a letter.” Emmy glanced reassuringly up from her writing. “I’ll finish it later. I can imagine what Marian has written. It is ‘yes,’ of course.”
“I think so, too,” nodded Ruth. “We’ll soon see, at any rate. There come Sarah and Frances. I can hear Sarah’s giggle.”
A succession of energetic thumps on the hapless panels proclaimed the fact that Frances and Sarah had indeed arrived.