A PAUSE IN ROMANCE
A healthy body and plenty of wholesome activities, with books and sane
thinking at home, kept Betty Lee from any morbid ideas or tendencies in
regard to early love affairs. She was romantic, to be sure, having had
Larry in mind as her Prince Charming for some time. But with the pushing
lessons and performances of her senior year there was not much time for
dwelling upon “Love and Larry,” an expression of her own and held in her
young heart in connection with that evening of Valentine’s day. It was
“Eros, god of Love,” that she remembered, not St. Valentine. Now that
she had a room of her own, she could sleep every night with Larry’s
little valentine heart under her pillow, and his writing on the place
card with its astonishingly revealing verses was equally cherished. Not
every girl had a lover who was a poet.
And Larry had said that he loved her! She always came back to that. It
was a little harder to get lessons now, for her thoughts had a trick of
wandering off and even in study hall she could sometimes see in her
mind’s eye that half embarrassed but very earnest young man who had bid
her goodbye.
“What are you smiling about?” somebody would ask her, perhaps.
“Oh, just a pleasant thought,” she would reply. “I occasionally have
one!”
G. A. A. affairs took much of her extra time. The Girl Reserves were
having a banquet. Fortunately she was not on one of the committees. She
hoped to have a Girl Reserve ring at the spring ceremonial, when they
had a beautiful service at one of the churches and the girls would be in
full white uniform to march in. That ring, given not for advance in
scholarship but in recognition of development in character, would mean
something to Betty. She had tried, not only to meet the various demands,
but to be fair and just and kind and lend an ear to the various ideals
suggested as graces in the well-rounded character. Betty loved the Girl
Reserves and all that they stood for. And what fun they could have, too,
just like the scouts and camp-fire girls. If “nothing happened” she
would be allowed to go to camp again during some period after school was
out. Yet she could not plan beyond her diploma, for receiving that would
mark one “jumping off place.” Would there be anything left of her by
that time?
Her “grand rush” was occasionally recognized by her mother with a formal
welcome when she came home late. “Miss Lee, I believe?” her mother would
inquire, offering her the tips of her fingers from a hand held high.
“Yes,” Betty would reply, extending her own fingers, “glad to meet you.”
Then she usually received an embrace and a motherly kiss with a
searching look into what was usually a blooming face. Sometimes she
would be tired out and then she was promptly told to stretch out for
half an hour and “think of nothing.” In the pleasant process of thinking
of—Larry Waite—she usually dropped to sleep, waking refreshed for
dinner and the evening.
The inner hiking club of the G. A. A.’s had one winter hike, almost a
spring hike, indeed, for a few birds were back in warm late February
days before March winds began. But pussy willows were in bud. Betty saw
a bluebird, several robins, some downy and hairy woodpeckers, a whisking
titmouse and two of his cousins, the black-capped titmice, or
chickadees. But they were Carolina chickadees Betty thought, though they
did not make identification sure by singing. Only “chickadee-dee-dee,”
they said. The hike was almost a committee meeting of those prominent
seniors, for there was so much to plan. Betty was selling tickets
already for the orchestra concert. She was in the “senior” orchestra
indeed, in these days. Ted Dorrance and she had always that in common,
love for the violin.
“It’s a pity that Ted doesn’t see more of you, Betty,” said Doris, one
time when she had been unusually thoughtful, sitting in Betty’s room to
hear all about an orchestra practice when three boys had been sent to
“D. T.,” otherwise known as “detention,” by a leader whose patience was
exhausted in enduring various capers.
“Why?” asked Betty.
“Because you are both so crazy about the violin. Wouldn’t it be fine to
marry somebody like Ted?”
“Ted is nice enough for any one,” said Betty and meant it. “But imagine
two people practicing on violins. The neighbors would never stand it.”
This seemed to amuse Doris very much and after she finished laughing she
announced that she quite agreed. But Doris never knew that once Betty
had had almost the same idea, never fully acknowledged, even to herself.
Then there was Arthur Penrose, so congenial in every way, always to be a
friend. But some one else had become so dear. Betty was sure that she
never would change this time.
In March the results of the endurance swim were proclaimed and published
in the Lyon’s _Roar_. Betty Lee led with the highest individual score,
and naturally this senior class stood highest of the classes. Perhaps
Betty’s influence and swimming had helped make swimming popular with the
girls of her class, for she had taken honors almost from the first.
The faculty played its annual game with the boys’ basketball team, with
the usual fun. But some of the faculty played well and though the boys,
as usual, beat, it was not without some effort. Then the ladies of the
faculty who could play had a game with the girls of basketball fame, in
a game which Amy Lou pronounced a “scream.” Betty saved her adorable
Miss Heath from a bad fall which seemed imminent, but made the basket
instead of her.
Betty attended to the matter of a nominating committee for G. A. A.
officers for the next year. That would be accomplished in advance this
time and the junior girls would have the advantage of planning with the
present officers. Then came the life-saving tests for juniors and
seniors. Betty, as she practiced for hers, tried to imagine how it would
seem in the ocean waves that she remembered from the last summer. Her
thoughts of Larry became less of a beautiful dream. They faced the
reality that she had not heard from him.
How fortunate that she had made a confidant of no one. She felt sure
that he had been in earnest. Betty could trust a friend. Yet after all,
he had merely told her that he loved her. Perhaps it was a sudden
impulse. Some people were like that, she knew. A kiss didn’t mean
anything to them. But she had felt that Larry was of a higher type. She
had all the experience of last summer and her acquaintance with him to
prove that.
Very well. Something might have happened. She most certainly would not
assume that Larry had bound himself to her in any way. Her pride, if
nothing else, would keep her friendly. And oh, how fortunate that he had
not asked her if _she_ loved _him_! That would have been hard, though
Betty did not reason that hurt pride would enter into that situation.
At all events, whatever the cause, budding warmth in love was decidedly
chilled. With her usual determination, Betty filled her mind as well as
her time, with all that was going on in relation to school. She did not
see Marcella, as it happened, for Marcella was as busy as she, and after
a few little trips back and forth between the houses, shortly after the
important party, each girl was busy with her separate school and
friends. Marcella had merely said once that it was such a pity Larry had
to rush off that way but that her father had to call on him often.
“Father isn’t very well, you know, and the business seems to bother him
a good deal lately.”
Betty had looked sympathetic and interested, but asked no questions.
Another pleasant outlook was hinted at by Marcella, when she said that
several of her very special friends were “absolutely charmed” by Betty.
That meant the sorority girls that were there. But that matter would
take care of itself in the future. Time enough when she was in the
university.
One consolation, the weeks flew by so fast that there was no time to
grieve over anybody’s neglect. Betty was so tired that she fell asleep
almost as soon as her head rested upon her pillow every night. But she
ceased to have that pleasant anticipation of a letter. Happy expectancy
changed into as calm an acceptance as she could master. The heart and
the bit of verse were put away gently in a repository for special
treasures, though not without regret. There was no tucking her hand
under her pillow to see if Larry’s “heart” were safely there.
One good result of keeping her mind on school was that she “positively”
could not give way to “spring fever.” She told Carolyn that she was
going on every G. A. A. hike and get her fifty points for fifty miles
toward the school letter, as announced.
“Seems to me your astonishing speed this spring is almost feverish,”
jokingly returned Carolyn, who was taking matters more easily. “Why not
have a good time this last stretch?”
But Betty shook her head. “I’ll have a better time if I take in
everything,” said she, “but last fall’s hikes and our Christmas hike _a
la_ the G. A. A. winter bird census are counting, of course.”
“How many ‘all around’ L’s do you want, Betty?”
“Never mind. I’m going to try for Miss Heath’s Latin prize, too, and
you’ll see me with my Virgil and prose comp under my arm on every hike.”
“I think you’ve lost your mind, Betty. They’ll put over your grave,
‘Ambition killed her!’”
“Not likely,” laughed Betty, “but you shouldn’t joke on serious
subjects. Honestly, now that we’ve passed our life-saving tests, outside
of our getting ready for senior examinations there isn’t much left but
pure fun. Yes, I do feel a little nervous over the big concert, for the
first violins have a lot to handle in some of the music, but that will
soon be over. By the way, I’m selling tickets for that; so if you think
you or any of your friends would enjoy the concert, please buy them of
me.”
“Goose! I’m in it, too! But I’m not selling tickets, so I’ll order those
for the family of you.”
Betty knew well that Carolyn was singing with the chorus, but both girls
were in high spirits that afternoon, swinging along on their own private
little hike in the Gwynne grounds. February and March had passed. It was
more than six weeks since the great occasion at Marcella’s. The central
feature of this walk and visit with Carolyn was to talk over the
committee to be appointed by the vice-president of the G. A. A. in
regard to the “Honor Girl.” This committee would consist of several
teachers and representatives of each class, who would receive and
consider the petitions, presented at an early date and naming candidates
for the honor.
Selma Rardon was the vice-president and had consulted with Betty about
the appointments. “I told Selma that I wasn’t going to make a single
suggestion, but she has a good committee and I think that there will be
a number of petitions. We’ll have almost too good a variety to choose
from. O Carolyn, you are the loveliest girl in the class and my name is
going on a petition for you!”
“I wonder if you could guess whom _I’m_ going to suggest as Honor Girl.
I’d love to wear the ring, I’ll confess. All of us want it; but I know
who deserves it most!”