“Isn’t this a stroke of luck?” she exclaimed. “You are going for a walk and so am I. I was just on the lookout for somebody. Girls here are so industrious Sunday mornings, I can never get any one to go walking until afternoon.”
Molly was silent. At that moment she yearned for the courage of Nance, who with a word could scatter Minerva’s cheeky assurance like chaff before the wind.
“It’s lack of character, I suppose,” she thought disconsolately. “But I couldn’t crush a fly, much less that presumptuous little freshman.”
She stood back, therefore, and let Nance have a clear field for the struggle.
“You are very kind to offer us your company, Miss Higgins, but we must beg to be excused to-day,” said Nance calmly.
“I call that a nice, Sunday-morning, Christian spirit,” cried Minerva, with an angry flash in her small, pig-like eyes.
“No, no, Minerva,” put in Molly gently. “You must not think that way about it. Nance and I have some important business to discuss, that’s all. You mustn’t imagine it’s unkind when older girls turn you down sometimes. You know it isn’t customary here for a freshman to invite herself to join an older girl. I believe it isn’t customary in any college. Don’t be angry, please.”
Hidden under layers of vanity, selfishness and stupid assurance, was Minerva’s better self which Molly hoped to reach, and some day she would break through the crust, but not this morning.
“Don’t tell me anything about upper-class girls—conceited snobs! I know all about them,” exclaimed Minerva angrily, as she marched down the corridor in a high state of rage.
“Don’t bother about her. She’s a hopeless case, just as Margaret said,” remarked Nance.