THE VALLEY OF MISUNDERSTANDING
For a brief instant Marjorie continued to stare after the retreating
form of her chum, oblivious to the steady stream of girls passing by
her. Then, seized with a sudden idea, she slipped into her seat and
hastily consulted the bulletin board. The ringing of the third bell
found her hurrying from the aisle toward the door. That brief survey of
the schedule had resulted in an entire change of her programme. She had
decided to recite geometry in the morning section. It meant giving up
the cherished last hour in the afternoon which she had reserved for
study. She would have to recite Latin at that time. Well, that did not
matter so much. Reciting geometry in the same section with Mary was what
counted. She had experienced a curious feeling of alarm as she had
watched Mary and Mignon La Salle disappear through the big doorway side
by side. Mignon was the last person she had supposed Mary would meet. To
be sure, there was nothing particularly alarming in their meeting. As
yet they were comparative strangers to each other. She had noted that
Miss Merton had assigned the French girl to the seat in front of Mary.
It was, therefore, quite probable that Mary had inquired the way to the
geometry classroom and Mignon had volunteered to conduct her to it.
Marjorie's sober face lightened a little as she hastened down the
corridor to the geometry room. Miss Nelson, the instructor in
mathematics, was on the point of closing the door as she hurriedly
approached. She smiled as she saw the pretty sophomore, and continued to
hold the door open until Marjorie had crossed the threshold. The latter
gave an eager glance about the room. The classrooms were provided with
rows of single desks similar to those in the study hall. Mary was
occupying one of them well toward the front of the room. Directly ahead
of her sat the French girl. On one of the back seats was Jerry Macy,
glaring in her most savage manner, her angry eyes fixed on the black,
curly head of the girl she despised.
There was no vacant seat near Mary. Marjorie noted all these facts in
that one comprehensive glance. It also seemed to her that the French
girl's face wore an expression of mocking triumph. And was it her
imagination, or had Mary glanced up as she entered and then turned away
her eyes? What did it all mean? Marjorie took the nearest vacant seat at
hand, the prey of many emotions. Then, as Miss Nelson stepped forward to
address the class, she resolutely put away all personal matters and,
with the fine attention to the business of study which had endeared her
to her various teachers during her freshman year, she strove to center
her troubled mind on what Miss Nelson was saying.
After a short preliminary talk on the importance of the study the class
was about to begin, Miss Nelson proceeded to the business of registering
her pupils and giving out the text books. Miss Nelson laid particular
stress on the thorough learning of all definitions pertaining to the
study in hand. "You must know these definitions so well that you could
say them backward if I requested it," she emphasized. "They will be of
greatest importance in your work to come." Then she heartlessly gave out
several pages of them for the advance lesson. The rest of the period she
spent in going over and explaining these same definitions in her usual
thorough manner, ending with the stern injunction that she expected a
letter-perfect recitation on the following morning.
"Miss Nelson doesn't want much," grumbled Jerry Macy in Irma Linton's
ear, as they filed out of class at the ringing of the bell which ended
the period. Then, before Irma had time to reply, she continued: "_What_
do you think of Mignon? Isn't it a shame she's back again? And did you
see her march in here with Mary Raymond? It's a pretty sure thing that
neither of them knows who is who in Sanford. I suppose Mary, poor
innocent, asked her the way to the classroom. Where was Marjorie all
that time, I wonder? I'll bet you a box of Huyler's that they won't walk
into geometry again to-morrow morning. Hurry up, there's Marjorie just
ahead of us with Mary now. The fair Mignon has vanished. I can see her
away ahead of them. I guess Marjorie didn't know who piloted Mary into
class. She came in last, you know."
Irma laid a detaining hand on Jerry's arm.
"Oh, wait until after school, Jerry," she counseled. This quiet,
unobtrusive girl was a keen observer. She had noted Marjorie's
half-troubled expression as she entered the room. The suspicion that
Marjorie knew and was not pleased had already come to her.
"All right, I will. Wish school was out now. Those geometry definitions
make me tired. I'm worn out already and school hasn't fairly begun yet.
I hate mathematics. Wouldn't look at a geometry if I could graduate
without it."
But while Jerry was anathematizing mathematics, Marjorie was saying
earnestly to Mary, whom she had joined at the door, "I am so sorry I
didn't come back to your seat in the study hall before the first bell
rang. I really ought to have asked permission to do so, but I was afraid
Miss Merton would say 'no.' She never loses a chance to be horrid to me.
When you said you were going to recite in this section I hurried and
changed my programme to make things come right for us."
Marjorie's earnest little speech, so full of apparent good will, brought
a quick flush of contrition to Mary's cheeks. She experienced a swift
spasm of regret for her bitter suspicion of Marjorie. Her tense face
softened. Why not unburden herself to her chum now and find relief from
her torture of doubt?
"Marjorie," she began, laying her hand lightly on her friend's arm, "I
wish you would tell me something. Miss La Salle said that Constance
Stevens----"
"Mary!" Marjorie's sunny face had suddenly grown very stern. "I am sorry
to have to speak harshly of any girl in Sanford High, but as your chum
I feel it my duty to ask you to have nothing to do with Mignon La Salle,
or pay the slightest attention to her. She made us all very unhappy last
year, particularly Constance and myself. I can't help saying it, but I
am sorry that she has come back to Sanford. I understood that she was at
boarding school. I am sure I wish she had stayed there." Marjorie spoke
with a bitterness quite foreign to her generous nature.
Mary's lips tightened obstinately as she listened. Her brief impulse
toward a frank understanding died with Marjorie's emphatic utterance.
She was inwardly furious at her chum's sharp interruption.
"I am very well aware that you would stand up for Miss Stevens, whether
she were in the right or in the wrong," she said with cold sarcasm.
"I've been seeing that ever since I came to Sanford. But just because
she is perfect in _your_ eyes is not reason why _I_ should think so. For
my part, I like Miss La Salle. She was awfully sweet to me this morning,
and I don't think it is nice in you to talk about her behind her back."
In the intensity of the moment both girls had stopped short in the
corridor, oblivious of the passing students. Mary's flashing blue eyes
fixed Marjorie's amazed brown ones in an angry gaze.
"Why, Ma-a-ry!" stammered Marjorie. "What _is_ the matter? I don't
understand you." Her bewilderment served only to increase the rancor
that had been smouldering in Mary's heart. Now it burst forth in a fury
of words.
"Don't pretend, Marjorie Dean. You know perfectly well what I mean. It
isn't necessary for me to tell you, either. When I came to Sanford to
live with you I thought I'd be the happiest girl in the world because I
was going to live at your house and go to school with you. If I had
known as much when Father and I came to see you as I know now--well, I
wouldn't--ever--have come back again!" Her anger-choked tones faltered.
She turned away her head. Then pulling herself sharply together, she
turned and hurried down the corridor.
For a second Marjorie stood rooted to the spot. Could she believe her
ears? Was it really Mary, her soldier chum, with whom she had stood
shoulder to shoulder for so many years, who had thus arraigned her? Her
instant of inaction past, she darted down the corridor after Mary. But
the latter passed into the study hall before she could overtake her. She
could do nothing now to straighten the tangle in which they had so
suddenly become involved until the morning session of school was over.
She glanced anxiously toward Mary's seat the moment she stepped across
the threshold of the study hall, only to see her friend in earnest
conversation with Mignon La Salle. An angry little furrow settled on her
usually placid brow. Mignon had lost no time in living up to her
reputation. Mary must be rescued from her baleful influence at once.
When they reached home that day she would tell her chum the whole story
of last year. Once Mary learned Mignon's true character she would see
matters in a different light. But what had the French girl said about
Constance? If only she had held her peace and not interrupted Mary. Even
as a little girl Marjorie remembered how hard it had been, once Mary was
angry, to discover the cause. In spite of her usual good-nature she was
unyieldingly stubborn. When, at rare intervals, she became displeased or
hurt over a fancied grievance, she would nurse her anger for days in
sulky silence.
"I'll tell her all about last year the minute we get into the house this
noon," resolved Marjorie. "When she knows how badly Mignon behaved
toward Connie----" The little girl drew a sharp breath of dismay. Into
her mind flashed her recent promise to Constance Stevens. She could tell
Mary nothing until she had permission to do so. That meant that for the
day, at least, she must remain mute, for Constance was not in school
that morning, nor would she be in during the day. She had received
special permission from Miss Archer to be excused from lessons while her
foster father was at Gray Gables.
It was a very sober little girl who wended her way to the French class,
her next recitation. Out of an apparently clear sky the miserable set of
circumstances frowned upon her dawning sophomore year. But it must come
right. She would go to Gray Gables that very afternoon and ask Constance
to release her from her promise. Connie would surely be willing to do
so, when she knew all. Comforted by this thought, Marjorie brightened
again.
"_Bon jour_, Mademoiselle Dean," greeted the cheerful voice of Professor
Fontaine as she entered his classroom. "It is with a great plaisure
that I see you again. Let us 'ope that you haf not forgottaine your
French, I trost you haf sometimes remembered _la belle langue_ during
your vacation." The little man beamed delightedly upon Marjorie.
"I am afraid I have forgotten a great deal of it, Professor Fontaine."
Marjorie spoke with the pretty deference that she always accorded this
long-suffering professor, whose strongly accented English and foreign
eccentricities made him the subject of many ill-timed jests on the part
of his thoughtless pupils. "I'm going to study hard, though, and it will
soon come back to me."
"Ah! These are the words it makes happiness to hear," he returned
amiably. "Some day, when you haf learned to spik the French as the
English, you will be glad that you haf persevered."
"I'm sure I shall," smiled Marjorie. Then, as several entering pupils
claimed the little man's attention, she passed on and took a vacant seat
at the back of the room.
Professor Fontaine had begun to address the class when the door opened
and Mignon La Salle sauntered in. She threw a quick, derisive glance at
his back, which caused several girls to giggle, then strolled calmly to
a seat. A shade of annoyance clouded the instructor's genial face. He
eyed his countrywoman severely for an instant, then went on with his
speech.
Marjorie received little benefit that morning from the professor's
gallant efforts to impress the importance of the study of his language
on the minds of his class. Her thoughts were with Mary and what she had
best say to conciliate her. She had as yet no inkling of the truth. She
did not dream that jealousy of Constance had prompted Mary's outburst.
She believed that the whole trouble lay in whatever Mignon had told
Mary.
She was more hurt than surprised when at the last period in the morning
she failed to find Mary in the chemistry room. Of course she might have
expected it. Nothing would be right until she had chased away the black
clouds of misunderstanding that hung over them. Still, it grieved her to
think that Mary had not trusted her enough to weigh her loyalty against
the gossip of a stranger.
The hands of the study hall clock, pointing the hour of twelve, brought
relief to the worried sophomore. The instant the closing bell rang she
made for the locker room. It would be better to wait for Mary there,
rather than in the corridor. If Mary's mood had not changed, she
preferred not to run the risk of a possible rebuff in so prominent a
place. There were too many curious eyes ready to note their slightest
act. It would be dreadful if some lynx-eyed girl were to mark them and
circulate a report that they were quarreling.
Arrived at the locker-room, she opened her locker and took out her
wraps. A faint gasp of astonishment broke from her. Only one rain-coat,
one hat and one pair of rubbers were there, where at the beginning of
the morning there had been two. Mary Raymond's belongings were gone.