“Don’t keep me waiting. I can’t stand suspense.”
“I’m going to give a party for you, with the brides for side dishes, but principally to celebrate your graduation.”
“Oh, joy!” cried Darcy.
Joy proved to be a mild and inexpressive word for the party. So far as Miss Darcy Cole was concerned, it was a triumph. The two brides, each sufficiently attractive in her own type, simply paled away before their unconsidered flat-mate. Gloria didn’t pale away. No rivalry could shadow her superb individuality. With her guest of honor she shared the laurels of a victorious evening. Stimulated to her best self by the realization of success, conscious of a buoyant body, perfectly clad, and a soaring spirit, Darcy unwittingly took and held the center of the stage, into which Gloria cunningly and unobtrusively maneuvered her. At the end of the long night of fun, Miss Cole sat enthroned. Miss Cole had sung like a lark. Miss Cole had danced like an elf. Miss Cole had laughed like a spirit of mirth. Miss Cole had fairly radiated a wholesome, keen, full-blooded, high-spirited gayety and happiness shot through with that indefinable glow of womanhood which is as mysterious and unmistakable as the firefly’s light and perhaps as unconsciously purposeful.
One thing only detracted from Gloria Greene’s satisfaction in the triumph of her protégée. Jacob Remsen had not been a witness to it.
Mr. Remsen was in retirement.
“I do want you and Jack to like each other,” said Gloria to Darcy, in the inevitable talk-over which followed the grand triumphal party.
“Of course,” returned the girl softly and warmly regarding her friend. “And of course I’m going to like him just as hard as ever I can, if he’ll let me.”
“For your sake” was the implication of that warmth, which would have considerably astonished Gloria had she appreciated it. But how should she know the interpretation given by the girl to that casual kiss overseen in the studio? Gloria’s mind was running in quite a different direction.
Sequels to the party and to Darcy’s success were promptly manifested in the form of sundry boxes and parcels bearing fashionable trade insignia which flowed in upon Bachelor-Girls’ Hall. But not for Miss Raines or Miss Barrett. Out of her sumptuous surplus, Miss Cole was pleased to present a dozen American Beauty roses to Miss Raines and a five-pound box of “special” candies to Miss Barrett, explaining kindly that she could not possibly use them herself. That was the glory-crowned summit of a delicate revenge, long overdue. “Poor Darcy,” indeed!