But Winifred was not only ambitious socially; she had a good mind and longed to succeed in her classes as well as in her friendships, so it was hardly to be wondered at that she should cordially dislike the two older ranch girls, who, coming out of nowhere and pretending to nothing, seemed likely to prove her rivals. For, while Jean might stand in the way of her being chosen to fill the highest position in the Junior class, Olive was seeking to wrest from her the Shakespeare prize which the old lady at “The Towers” offered each year to the Junior students in Jessica Hunt’s class. Gerry Ferrows was also competing for this prize, but as it represented a fairly large sum of money, sufficient to cover a year’s tuition at Primrose Hall, Winifred felt that in any case it must be hers.
She looked up and laughed mockingly as Gerry flung herself down on their couch, closing her eyes as though she wished to take a nap.
“What luck for the fair Jean at the coming election, friend Gerry?” she asked in an irritating fashion.
“Better luck than for the fair Winifred,” Gerry answered, none too truthfully, but enraged at her companion’s air of calm assurance.
Winifred laughed again. “That isn’t the truth, Gerry, and you know it, and I thought you always spoke the truth no matter if it half killed you, being anxious to prove that women are as honest as men, as brave and as straight-forward and as clever, and therefore should be entitled to equal suffrage.”
Gerry now sat up on her couch challenging her foe, her homely face crimsoning. “You are right, Winifred, I wasn’t quite truthful; I am afraid that your chance for the presidency is better than Jean’s. But you know that it is all because the girls here think that Olive isn’t a fit associate for the rest of us, or else Jean would have won in a walkover. I wonder if the story of Olive’s not knowing anything of her parentage is true and if she is a half Indian girl? You told it me. Where did you get the information? Perhaps after all it isn’t so!”
“Oh, the story came through the Harmons, who were out West and heard the tale and Elizabeth’s repeating it to one of the younger girls she knew in this school. I don’t suppose Elizabeth meant any harm in telling, for she seemed to think that we would be pleased to have an Indian enliven us at Primrose Hall. You may be very sure, however, that Olive and Jean and Frieda have been very quiet about the whole question of this objectionable Olive, but if you don’t believe the story, Gerry, why don’t you inquire of Miss Winthrop?” Winifred ended.
Again Gerry flushed. “I have,” she answered shortly, “and Miss Winthrop treated me with her most frozen manner. ‘If there is any mystery about Olive Ralston’s parentage, that is her private affair,’ she said. ‘But kindly remember that she is a student at Primrose Hall and if I thought her unfit for the companionship of my other girls, she would not be among you.’ You can imagine that I felt about the size of a small caterpillar when she got through with me.” And Gerry bridled, still sore from Miss Winthrop’s snubbing.
“You can count on Katherine Winthrop to recommend you to mind your own business,” Winifred interposed with secret satisfaction, knowing from Gerry’s report that Miss Winthrop had heard of Olive’s past and glad to have the truth of the story that she had been repeating confirmed.
“But don’t you think perhaps it is unkind to be so unfriendly to a girl for something she cannot help?” Gerry questioned, not so anxious to have Winifred’s opinion as to clear things up in her own mind.