The laughter grew louder when, according to the energetic imp's
direction, four solemn, black-robed figures obediently bestrode their
broomstick steeds. They next pranced confidently up and down the line of
girls in hopeful search of the fair one, the ribbon rosette on whose
sleeve corresponded respectively with the bow on the broom each rode.
When the first four had triumphantly ended their quest and marched their
newly-acquired partners out of line, four more gallants fared forth to
seek their own, and so on until seventeen broomstick knights had
appropriated their seventeen respective partners.
"Unmask!" sang out the master of ceremonies, thoughtfully setting the
example. Minus the false face he had worn, Danny Seabrooke's grinning,
freckled features looked out from his close-fitted, pointed cap.
"Why, how funny!" exclaimed Marjorie Dean, as she discovered her partner
to be none other than Hal Macy. "You are the last person I expected
would be my partner."
"You're not sorry, are you?" Hal smiled rather tenderly at the lovely
girl beside him.
"Of course not," was Marjorie's frank reply. "I am awfully glad. I'd
rather have you for a partner than any other boy in school."
"Would you, Marjorie?" Hal's voice contained a hint of eagerness. Lately
he had begun to realize that his boyish affection for Marjorie Dean was
verging on a far deeper emotion. Yet the very candidness of Marjorie's
heartily expressed preference for him, showed him quite plainly that she
meant it merely in a sense of frank friendliness.
"You know I would," she nodded seriously. "Aren't we sworn comrades?"
The real meaning of his question had passed entirely over her head.
"We are, indeed," was the hearty response. Inwardly Hal vowed that for
the present he would try to regard Marjorie wholly in that light. Yet
within himself he cherished a fond hope that some day he might come to
mean more to this sweet, unselfish girl than a mere comrade. Although
Marjorie did not realize it, that evening marked the beginning of
Romance for her.
"I'll have to confess that I found you out before you unmasked,
Marjorie," he laughed. "Naturally I picked the broom that wore the blue
ribbon."
"You are a most designing knight," she answered heartily. "I wonder if
Laurie discovered Connie beforehand and did likewise." Her glance
travelling the long room a soft "Oh!" escaped her. Laurie had indeed
acquired a partner, but that partner was Mignon La Salle. A quick survey
of the room discovered Constance standing beside Miles Burton, a senior
at Weston High School. Marjorie could not help noting how delighted
Mignon looked. Laurie, however, did not appear specially elated. He was
making a desperate attempt to hide his disappointment under a show of
chivalry which Marjorie knew to be forced.
Before she had time to make further observations, the announcing strains
of another dance rang out and she floated away on Hal's arm. When that
dance was over Sherman Norwood claimed her for the next and the
succeeding one she danced with Hal.
"Now I must find Connie and have a talk with her," she declared
brightly, when that dance was finished.
"And I must do my duty by Jerry's guests," commented Hal somewhat
ruefully. "Be a good comrade and save as many dances for me as you can,
Marjorie."
"I will." Marjorie left him with a smiling little nod and set off to
find Constance. Half way across the floor she encountered Jerry who was
hurrying to meet her.
"I was looking for you, Marjorie. Come downstairs with me and see if you
can't persuade Veronica, I mean Ronny, I've decided to call her that, to
stay for the evening."
"Veronica!" Marjorie's brown eyes widened. "Is she really here? I
thought you said she wouldn't come. I haven't seen her."
"Oh, yes, you have, only you didn't know it," chuckled Jerry. "You saw
her do that shadow dance. She did say she wouldn't come. Then when I
told her about the stunts I was going to have she offered to come of her
own accord and do that dance. But she doesn't want anyone else to know
that she's here. I can't understand that girl. She's certainly the
world's great mystery."
Marjorie's face registered her surprise. "She does act queerly
sometimes. I don't know why, unless it's because she feels that her
position at Miss Archer's might make a difference with us. As though it
could. I'd love to see her to-night, if only for a few minutes. Your
party is lovely, Jerry. It is so original. I hadn't the least idea until
they unmasked that Harriet, Rita and Daisy were the three witches. I
suspected that tall, white figure to be the Crane, and, of course, I
knew Danny Seabrooke the minute I first set eyes on him. You and Hal
must have worked awfully hard to decorate everything so beautifully.
It's the nicest Hallowe'en party I've ever attended."
"I'm glad you like it." Jerry beamed her gratification. "It did keep Hal
and me hustling. I'm sorry for poor Laurie, though. It's too bad that he
had to go and draw Mignon for a partner. She'll stick to him all evening
like grim death. Trust her to do that."
"Oh, well, Connie won't care. It will only amuse her. Laurie isn't very
happy over it though," was Marjorie's regretful comment.
As they talked the two girls had been making their way downstairs. In
the back parlor they found Veronica, a demure little figure in her plain
blue suit and close-fitting blue hat. "I'm glad you came down,
Marjorie," she greeted. "You look so sweet in that peachblow frock. It's
a joy to see you."
"Thank you, Veronica. Your shadow dance was also a joy to see. You are a
very clever young person. I wish I could dance like that."
"Why can't you stay, Veronica?" lamented Jerry. "I'd love to have you
meet the Weston High boys. They are nice fellows and good dancers."
"Don't tempt me." Veronica made a smiling gesture of protest. "I love to
dance. When I was----" she stopped with her usual strange abruptness. "I
must go," she asserted decisively. "My--Miss Archer will wonder what has
kept me so long."
"But we came down here as a special committee of two to persuade you to
stay," pleaded Marjorie.
"Thank you ever so much. It is dear in you to take so much trouble for a
poor servant girl." Veronica's gray eyes twinkled as she referred to her
lowly estate.
"I wish you wouldn't say that, Ronny," protested Marjorie, unconsciously
using Jerry's new name for the pretty girl.
"Where did you hear that name? I mean the name 'Ronny?'" Veronica's
startled question held a note of sharpness. "I never mentioned it to
you. I am sure of that." A decided pucker of displeasure showed itself
between her dark brows.
"Why--that--why--Jerry mentioned it," stammered Marjorie, somewhat taken
aback by Veronica's brusque manner of speaking. "She thought of it
herself, I suppose." Flushing, she turned to Jerry for corroboration.
The stout girl's round eyes were fixed shrewdly on Veronica.
"I take all the blame and the credit for it," was Jerry's prompt
assertion. "It's a cunning nickname and easier said than Veronica. If
you'd rather we'd not call you Ronny, then we won't. Of course, you
never mentioned it to me. I just made it up. It suits you, though. I'll
bet we're not the first persons to call you by it, either," she added,
hazarding a shrewd guess.
A tide of pink flooded Veronica's white skin. Her forehead smoothed
itself magically. With a short, embarrassed laugh, she said briefly: "I
don't mind if you girls call me Ronny." She made no attempt, however, to
affirm or deny Jerry's guess. "Now I mustn't stay another moment, or
some of your guests may wander downstairs and find me here." So saying,
she began to move determinedly toward the doorway that opened into the
hall, Jerry and Marjorie following. Pausing at the front door only long
enough to offer them her hand in parting, Veronica made a quick exit
from the house and sped down the drive. Accompanying her as far as the
veranda, Marjorie and Jerry watched her in silence until she had been
swallowed up in the black shadows of the night.
"Some little puzzle." It was Jerry who spoke first. "I've always said
that I knew everything about everybody, but I'll have to make one
exception. I don't know a single thing about Veronica except what she
has chosen to tell me. There's no way of finding out anything, either.
I'd as soon think of asking the Shah of Persia how much gold he had in
his royal treasury as to ask Miss Archer about her."
"No; we couldn't question Miss Archer," Marjorie agreed soberly. "We
must accept Ronny at her own face value, and not trouble ourselves about
her peculiarities. Some day she may explain to us of her own accord the
very things that puzzle us now. The best way to do will be to pretend
not to notice anything mysterious about whatever she may say or do. We
know that she is generous and high-principled and truthful. That ought
to be enough for us to know."
"Yes, that's so," admitted Jerry. Tearing her thoughts from the strange
girl, who had just left them, she linked an arm in one of Marjorie's,
saying: "We'd better go back to the town hall. We've already missed two
or three dances."
Deeply absorbed in conversation, they entered the house and climbed the
stairs to the ball room, quite unaware that a black-eyed girl in an
elaborate old gold satin evening frock had slipped cautiously from the
living room and sheltered herself for a moment in the alcove formed by
the stairs.
Mignon La Salle had left the ball room almost immediately after Marjorie
and Jerry had exited from it. She had not seen them leave it, however.
She had come downstairs on an errand of her own, which had nothing
whatever to do with them. Overjoyed at having Laurie Armitage for her
partner for the evening, she had resolved to make hay while the sun
shone. Mignon had arrived at the Macys' in her runabout, driven by the
long-suffering William. But she did not purpose to return home in it.
She intended to return in Laurie's roadster. On arriving, her lynx eyes
had spied it parked before the gate. As Laurie had drawn her for a
partner for the evening, she was positive that courtesy would prompt him
to see her home, if the occasion demanded it. To make sure of this, she
planned secretly to telephone her residence and leave word that William
need not come for her. As her father was out of the city on business,
she ran no special risk of having her plan fail. When the party was
over, she would loudly bewail the non-appearance of her runabout and lay
it at the door of poor William's stupidity. Then Laurie would be obliged
to take her home in his roadster, or appear in a most ungentlemanly
light. It would also be a great triumph over that hateful Constance
Stevens.
Filled with this laudable intention, Mignon had sped cat-footed down the
stairs. The sound of girlish voices suddenly emanating from the back
parlor brought her to a halt. She heard Veronica's warm greeting of
Marjorie and recognized her unmistakable tones. Breathlessly she took in
the conversation that ensued. The moment she heard Veronica announce her
departure, Mignon made a swift, noiseless dash for the living room,
gaining it just in time to avoid being seen by the trio as they passed
from the back parlor into the hall. Hardly had the front door closed
upon them when she darted across the room and took refuge behind a
Japanese screen.
Determined not to be balked in her resolve to telephone her home, she
crouched there and waited until the sound of the reopening and closing
front door followed by footsteps on the stairs and the hum of receding
voices, informed her that Marjorie and Jerry had returned to the ball
room. Fearing further interruption to her project, she lost no time in
calling up her home and impressively delivering her command to the maid
who answered the telephone. Well pleased with what she had heard and
done, Mignon returned to the dancers inwardly congratulating herself on
her own cleverness.
As the evening progressed she found Lawrence Armitage a far from devoted
knight. True he danced with her several times and was uniformly
courteous in his behavior toward her, but whenever he could seize an
opportunity to spend a moment or two with Constance Stevens he made good
use of it. At supper, which was served at small tables in the dining
room, she was secretly furious to find herself and Laurie at the same
table with Constance Stevens and Miles Burton, the senior from Weston
High School. Her instant suspicion was that the situation had been
arranged by Jerry at Laurie's request. Although she had only surmised
this, at least part of her conjecture was quite true. Out of sympathy
for Laurie, good-natured Jerry had favored him to this extent. Hal also
had privately rallied his boy friends to the cause by saying to them sub
rosa: "You fellows had better keep Mignon busy dancing. Are you on?"
Mignon's swift rise in popularity as a dancer proved that they were.
This, however, she did not at first suspect. Her insatiable vanity
prevented her from seeing through that ruse.
It was not until supper had ended and the dancing had been resumed that
light began to dawn upon her. It came with the dismaying knowledge that
Laurie had not been near her for six dances. Three of them he had danced
with Constance Stevens. Following on that discovery came the
disagreeable suspicion that perhaps he had persuaded his friends to help
him out. She was by no means anxious to believe this. Nevertheless, the
bare idea of it plunged her into a most unpleasant mood. Too wise even
to intimate to the young man that she disapproved of his tactics, she
began to look about for someone on whom she might vent her spite.
It may be said to Laurie's credit that he was entirely innocent of the
crimes she attributed to him. He knew nothing whatever of Jerry's and
Hal's private campaign for his benefit. Noting that Mignon was receiving
plenty of attention from his friends, he very naturally gravitated
toward Constance. In reality none of the young folks except Mignon
looked upon the broom episode as being other than a huge joke. Her
sentimental preference for Laurie, which she knew was not reciprocated,
caused her to clutch at any straw that would win her his attentions.
Gradually becoming convinced of her cavalier's perfidy, Mignon crossly
snubbed two Weston High boys who asked her to dance and switched
haughtily toward a corner of the room where a big punch bowl of fruit
lemonade awaited the thirsty. As she neared it her elfish eyes began to
sparkle with malicious purpose. Standing beside it was Lucy Warner, her
small face aglow with half envious delight as she watched the dancers.
Unfortunately for Lucy, she did not know how to dance.
"Having a good time?" inquired Mignon patronizingly, as she toyed with
the handle of the silver ladle preparatory to filling a cup with
lemonade.
"Oh, yes." Forgetting the disapproval of Mignon which Marjorie Dean's
recent explanation concerning the secretaryship had caused her to feel,
Lucy answered almost eagerly. The next instant she stiffened
perceptibly, and started to move away from Mignon.
"Wait a minute," ordered Mignon, quick to note the change. "What's the
matter? Are you angry with me? I'm sure you have no reason to be."
Remembering Marjorie's injunction not to allow herself to be drawn into
a quarrel with the French girl, Lucy hesitated. "You will have to excuse
me," she said quietly. "I am going home now."
"Oh, are you? That's too bad. I was just about to tell you something.
Never mind. Perhaps it wouldn't be wise to tell you."
"What do you mean?" Lucy's green eyes gleamed surprised displeasure. The
suspicious side of her nature, however, clamored for information. She
knew that she ought to go on about her business, but curiosity stayed
her feet.
"Oh, nothing much." Mignon shrugged her shoulders. "It was merely about
something that happened last year. I've changed my mind. I am not going
to tell you. You know it's forbidden among the Lookouts to gossip. I'll
just give you a piece of advice. As a Lookout, it would pay you to keep
your eyes open. There are some very deceitful girls in Sanford High
School. One of them in particular pretends to be your friend. I should
advise you to be careful what you tell her. She is not to be trusted."
"What do you mean?" Lucy again demanded, with a deep scowl. She wondered
if Mignon's last insinuation meant Marjorie Dean.
"Use your eyes and ears and you'll find out for yourself." With an
amused laugh, Mignon set the cup she held on the table and walked away,
her spite for the moment satisfied. She had managed to plant a seed of
discord in Lucy's inflammable brain. She hoped with all her heart that
it had sprouted and would grow rapidly.
That it had not died became evident in the rather reserved farewells
which Lucy made to Jerry, her hostess, and several of the girls. Among
them was Marjorie who wondered a little at the other girl's chilly
demeanor. Earlier in the evening Lucy had been radiant. Always
charitable in thought, Marjorie laid it to the fact that Lucy was
perhaps a trifle tired. Yet the almost hostile stare of her
peculiarly-colored eyes haunted Marjorie for the remainder of the
evening.
Twelve o'clock marked the wind-up of the Hallowe'en party. By a quarter
after that hour the young revelers had begun to troop down the front
steps of the house, their gay good nights echoing on the still air.
Greatly to her joy, Lawrence Armitage dutifully inquired of Mignon if
her runabout were parked outside, or if she expected the La Salle's
chauffeur to come for her. On replying that her chauffeur would be
waiting at the gate with the runabout, she was even better pleased to
hear him politely announce his wish to see her safely to it.
Mignon was doubly elated by the fact that Constance and Marjorie were
directly behind her. Mr. Dean had come to take both girls home, as
Constance was following her usual after-party custom of spending the
night with Marjorie. The French girl was quite ready to set up an
out-cry over the non-appearance of her runabout. She was anxious that
Constance in particular should see her calmly appropriate both Laurie
and his roadster.
Her black eyes blazed with triumph as she surveyed the little row of
automobiles which stretched itself along a portion of the street in
front of the Macys' residence. Her runabout was not among them.
"Why, where is my car?" she cried out in well-simulated dismay. "Isn't
that provoking? That stupid William has misunderstood that he was to
come for me. It's just like him to make such a mistake! What am I to
do?" Mignon rolled appealing eyes at Laurie.
Sheer vexation sealed Laurie's lips for an instant. He knew only too
well what courtesy demanded him to do, and he rebelled at the thought.
Mignon's loud outcry had already attracted the attention of a group of
guests who stood surrounding Hal and Jerry Macy. The young host and
hostess had strolled to the gate with their friends to wish them a last
good night. Every pair of eyes was now centered on Mignon.
Drawing a long breath, Laurie reluctantly came to the French girl's
rescue. "I will take you home----" he began with polite aloofness.
"There comes your runabout, Mignon," called Muriel Harding sweetly. Her
alert eyes had spied it as, with William at the wheel, it passed under
the arc light and made rapid approach.
Muriel's announcement elicited no response from Mignon. She stood
motionless on the walk, her gaze fixed fiercely upon the undependable
William as he turned the runabout and halted it just ahead of the other
cars. Under the glare of the gate lights the varying expressions of her
stormy face told their own story. With the realization of defeat came
the need for instant action. William was already moving toward the group
of young folks. He was looking for her. She must intercept him before he
came too close to them.
Electrified by the fear of exposure, she darted toward the chauffeur,
who, glimpsing his charge, strode forward. She was just a second too
late. "I got your 'phone message not to come for you, Miss Mignon," he
boomed mercilessly, "but your father just got home and he says that I
was to drive over after you just the same."
Taken at a complete disadvantage, Mignon could only mutter an
embarrassed good night to the outwardly grave, but inwardly gleeful
Laurie. Ignoring the amused group of boys and girls, she flounced into
the runabout without a word to the innocent betrayer of her
carefully-concocted scheme. During the drive home, however, she shed
tears of heart-felt rage against her father's untimely interference. She
vowed vengefully that he should pay for it, thereby proving conclusively
that, when it came to a matter of a grudge, she was no respecter of
personages.