Dulcie's tumultuous resentment of accusation had been heard throughout
the Hall. More than one door opened along the second, third and fourth
story halls as the shrill-sounding voice continued.
Among others, Jerry had gone to the door to ascertain what was happening
in the house of such an unusual nature. Two or three moments of intent
listening and she had returned to her chair before the center table.
"Why waste my good time listening to the far-off scrapping of the Sans?"
she had lightly questioned. "There is some kind of row going on in Miss
Cairns' room. That's the way it sounds to me. I can't say who is giving
the vocal performance. I don't know the dear creatures well enough to
tag that sweet voice. I could hear other doors besides ours open. We are
not alone in our curiosity."
"Your curiosity," Marjorie had corrected. "I wasn't enough interested to
go to the door." Marjorie had laughed teasingly.
"Stand corrected. My curiosity," Jerry had obligingly answered. With
that the subject had dropped as abruptly as the noise had begun.
The Sans were fortunate, in that the students residing at Wayland Hall,
with the exception of themselves, were too fruitfully engaged in the
minding of their own affairs to give more than a passing attention to
the disturbance created by Dulcie Vale. Within the next two or three
days they were agreeably surprised to find that no word of it had
uttered on the campus.
"Has anyone said anything to you of Dulcie's roars, howls and shrieks?"
Leslie asked Natalie, half humorously. It was the fourth evening after
the meeting in her room and the two were lounging in Natalie's room
doing a little studying and a good deal of talking.
"No. You can see for yourself what the girls in this house are; a
mind-your-own-business crowd." Natalie's reply contained a certain
amount of admiration. "If the story of it spreads over the campus, it
will not be their fault. Sometimes I am sorry, Les, we didn't go in for
democracy from the first. We are cut out of a lot of good times by being
so exclusive. Take this show that Miss Page and Miss Dean are going to
give in the gym tomorrow night. Not one of the Sans was asked to be in
it."
"Hardly!" Leslie laughed and raised her eyebrows. "I can't imagine Bean
doing anything like that."
"You needn't make fun of me. We couldn't expect to be asked to take
part. I simply mentioned it as an example of the way things are. There
is a great deal of sociability going on this year at Hamilton among the
whole four classes, yet the Sans are as utterly out of it as can be,"
Natalie complained with evident bitterness.
"Glad of it," was the unperturbed retort. "Why yearn to be in a show,
Nat, at this late stage of the game? Next winter, when you are in New
York society, you'll have plenty of opportunity for amateur
theatricals."
"Oh, I daresay I shall." This did not console Natalie. Of all the Sans,
she was the only one not satisfied with her lot. She would not have
exchanged places with any student outside her own particular coterie.
Still, she had dreamed from her freshman year of shining as a star in
college theatricals. To her lasting disappointment, she had never been
invited to take part in an entertainment. The Sans had neither the
inclination nor the ability to engineer a play or revue. The democratic
element at Hamilton did not require the Sans' services.
"Are you going to that show?" Leslie cast a peculiar glance at her
friend.
"I--well, yes; I bought a ticket." Natalie appeared rather ashamed of the
admission. "Did you buy one?" she hastily countered.
"Yes; two. Laura Sayres bought them for me. Humphrey has them for sale
in her office. I asked Laura if everything were just the same with
Matthews since that Miss Warner substituted for her. She said all was
O. K. She has her files, letters and papers arranged so that no one
could ever make trouble for her."
"Too bad, Leslie, that Miss Warner was the one to substitute for Laura.
It gave her a chance to meet Doctor Matthews. One never can tell what
might develop from even so small an incident as that." Natalie was not
disposed to be reassuring that evening.
"Will you cut out croaking, Nat?" Leslie sprang from her chair and began
a nervous pacing of the floor. "You might as well pour ice-water down
the back of my neck. Enough annoying things have happened lately to
worry me without having to reckon on what 'might' happen. I told Sayres
to take good care of herself and try not to be away from her position
again. I advised her, if ever she had to be away, even for a day, to
supply her own sub. She should have had sense enough to do so the last
time."
"I am surprised that Miss Warner does secretarial work when that Miss
Lynne she rooms with is wealthy in her own right," commented Natalie.
"I suppose that green-eyed ice-berg wants to earn her own money. I made
a mistake about Lynne. Her father is the richest man in the far west. My
father told me so last summer. I always meant to tell you that and kept
on forgetting it. He said then I ought to be friends with her, but I
told him 'nay, nay.' She and I would be _so pleased_ with each other."
Leslie smiled ironically.
"'The richest man in the far west,'" repeated Natalie, her mind on that
one enlightening sentence. "Too bad she isn't our sort. We could ask her
into the Sans in Dulcie's place."
"She wouldn't leave Bean and Green-eyes and those two savages, Harding
and Macy. I sometimes admire those two. They have so much nerve.
Dulcie's place will stay vacant. I wouldn't ask Lola to join us after
the way she has dropped me for Alida. As for Bess; she has yet to hear
from me. I have an idea she and Dulc will get together. Dulc will tell
her the news. Then Bess will sidle around me thinking she can get into
the Sans. What? Watch my speed!" The corners of Leslie's mouth went down
contemptuously. She was a match for the self-seeking sophomore.
The next evening being that of the revue, Leslie and Natalie attended it
together. The rest of the Sans had elected also to go to it. Leslie had
advised against going in a body. "If we do, they'll think we were
anxious to see their old show," she had argued. "We'd better scatter by
twos and threes about the gym."
By a quarter to eight the gymnasium was packed with students, faculty,
and a goodly sprinkle of persons from the town of Hamilton who had
friends among the students. Robin and Marjorie had worried for fear the
programme might be too long. There would be sure to be encores. Their
choice of talent, however, was so happy that the audience could not get
enough of the various performers.
Marjorie was keyed up to the highest pitch of joy by the presence of
Constance Stevens and Harriet Delaney. They had arrived from New York
late that afternoon on purpose to take part in the show. While the
wonder of Constance's matchless high soprano notes in two grand opera
selections awarded her a fury of applause, Harriet came in for her share
of glory. It may be said that Constance and Veronica divided honors that
evening.
Urged by Marjorie, Ronny had sent to Sanford for the black robe she used
in the "Dance of the Night." It had been in her room in Miss Archer's
house since the evening of the campfire three years before. Besides the
"Dance of the Night" she gave a fine exhibition of Russian folk dancing
in appropriate costume.
Marjorie had felt impelled to write Miss Susanna a special note of
invitation inclosing several tickets. "Jonas or the maids might like our
show, even if Miss Susanna won't come. Of course she won't, but I wanted
her to have the tickets," she had said to Jerry, who had agreed that her
head was level and her heart in the right place as usual.
For the first time since the beginning of her hatred for Hamilton
College, Miss Susanna had been sorely tempted to break her vow and
attend the show. Realizing the sensation her presence on the campus
would create, she quickly abandoned the impulse. She was half vexed with
Marjorie for sending her tickets and made note to warn her never to send
any more.
Of all the audience, those most impressed by performance and performers
were the Sans. While they enjoyed the revue, girl-fashion, as a
spectacle, the knowledge of the enemy's triumph was hard to swallow.
Ronny's dancing was a revelation to them, astonishing and bitter. As
each number appeared, perfect in its way, the realization of the
cleverness of the girls they had affected to despise came home as a
sharp thrust.
Leslie Cairns was particularly disgruntled as she hurried Natalie from
the gymnasium and into the cold clear December night.
"Don't talk to me, Nat," she warned. "I am so upset I feel like howling
my head off. The way Beanie has come to the front is a positive crime.
Did you see her marching around the gym tonight as though she owned it?"
"It was a good show," Natalie ventured.
"Entirely too good," grumbled Leslie. "I don't like to talk of it. Did I
mention that Bess wrote me a note. She wants to see me about something
very important." Leslie placed satirical stress on the last three words.
"She may see me but she won't be pleased. I'm in a very bad humor
tonight. I shall be in a worse one tomorrow."