"THE MOVING FINGER WRITES."
The girls had agreed to pack all their clothes in one trunk and carry
a suitcase apiece to the Junior Week-End Party at Exmoor. Nance was
official packer and stood knee-deep in finery while she considered
whether it was better to begin with party capes or slippers. Molly was
studying and Judy was stretched on the divan idly swinging one foot.
Otoyo poked her head in the door.
"May I ask advice of kind friends?"
Molly looked up and smiled. She had once heard a preacher say that
humility was as necessary to a well-rounded character as a sense of
humor and she could see now what he meant. Otoyo was an excellent
illustration. She was filled with humble gratitude for little
kindnesses, never boasted and never forgot her perfect manners.
"Indeed, you may, little one," spoke up Judy. "Come right in and state
your grievances."
"Oh, I have no grievances. I have only happinesses," said Otoyo. "But I
am packing and I wish to ask advices regarding clothes."
"Clothes for what?"
"For Exmoor," replied Otoyo, blushing and casting down her eyes.
"Why, you dear little Jap, you didn't tell us," exclaimed Molly.
"I have obtained the knowledge of it myself only this morning. Mrs.
McLean has so kindly offered to look after little Japanese girl."
"And who is your escort?" they demanded in one chorus.
"Professor Green," said Otoyo, trying not to show how intensely proud
she felt of the honor. "He is what you call 'a-lum-nus,'" she said, "and
he invites me to go with him, and Mr. Andrew McLean, junior, is making
out a card of dances for me. Is it not wonderful? And is it not of
great good fortune that I have now learned to dance?" She began circling
about the room. "Only I can do it much better alone. Poor little
Japanese girl will be frightened to dance with American gentleman."
The girls laughed again.
"You are an adorable little person," exclaimed Molly, kissing her, "and
young American gentleman will be only too glad to dance with little
Japanese girl."
Otoyo was now well provided with clothes, and there being still plenty
of room in the trunk, they allowed her to pack two evening dresses and a
diminutive black satin party wrap with their things.
Molly was half sorry that Professor Green was going. Except at classes,
she had never seen him since that Sunday morning on Round Head. Once he
had smiled at her like an old friend when they had met in the main hall,
but she was careful not to return the smile and bowed coldly.
"Yes, I am disappointed," she had thought. "I am glad Prexy found out
about us that night, but he needn't have been the one to tell. I hope I
shall be too much engaged in having a good time at Exmoor to see him. I
am glad Lawrence Upton is going to look after me, because he always does
so much for one. It was nice of Professor Green to take Otoyo. He is
kind, of course."
However, that afternoon when the trolley started with its load of
Wellington guests for Exmoor--there were several other parties--Molly
found herself seated between Mrs. McLean and Professor Green. How it had
happened she could not tell. She had intended to sit anywhere but next
the Professor, whom she regarded as a false friend. But there she was
and the Professor was saying:
"Miss Brown, you and I have been almost strangers of late. Are you
working so hard that you have no time for old friends this winter?"
Molly paused for an instant to consider what she should reply to this
question. Then she said a thing so bitter and foreign to her nature
that the Professor gave a start of surprise and Molly felt that someone
else must have said it.
"I have plenty of time for really _loyal_ friends, Professor Green," she
said in a frigid tone of voice. She turned her back and began to talk to
Mrs. McLean, and for the rest of the trip the Professor devoted himself
to Otoyo.
Molly was in high spirits when she reached Exmoor. She was determined
not to let her cruel speech ruin her good time. But through all the
gayeties of that afternoon and evening, at the teas, the dinner and the
Glee Club concert, the tang of its bitterness reached her. Across the
aisle at the concert she could see Professor Green sitting by Otoyo,
smiling gravely while the little Japanese girl entertained him, but
never once did he look in Molly's direction. A lump rose in her throat
and she dropped her gaze to the program.
"It is never right to make mean speeches," she decided, "no matter how
much provocation one has."
"Aren't you having a good time?" asked Lawrence Upton at her side. "You
look a little tired."
"I'm having a lovely time," answered Molly, "and I thought I was looking
my best."
"Oh, you couldn't look any better. I think you are--well, the prettiest
girl in the room. I meant there was a kind of sad look in your eyes."
"Don't try to cover it up with compliments," answered Molly. "When a
thing's said, you can't change it, you know. It's like this:
"'The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.'"
"Please don't be so severe, Miss Molly," said Lawrence humbly.
"I wasn't thinking of what you said, particularly," said Molly. "I was
thinking of any speech one might make and regret and never be able to
recall."
"You _are_ sad," said Lawrence. "I was certain of it. Will it make you
any gladder to hear about to-morrow? You are engaged for every hour in
the day. I had a great to-do keeping a little time for myself. Three
fellows wanted to take you driving in the morning, but I reserved that
privilege for yours truly. Dodo and I are going to drive you and Miss
Judy over to Hillesdell after breakfast. Then there's the Junior Lunch.
That's quite a big affair, you know. It's like a reception. Prexy always
comes to that and any of the alumni who happen to be down. A crowd of
them come usually. Andy's giving a tea in the Chapter rooms and there
are some other teas, and then come the dinner and the ball."
"If there's anything left of us by then," said Molly, laughing.
It was an intermission and everybody was visiting as they did at the
Wellington Glee Club concerts. Molly, the center of a jolly crowd of
young people, joined in the merriment and talk and all the time there
was a taste of bitterness on her lips and in her ear a voice kept
dinning over and over:
"I have plenty of time for really loyal friends, Professor Green."
That night, when they had gone to bed in their rooms in the Chapter
House, they were serenaded by a roving band of juniors. When at last the
serenaders moved away and the house was still, Molly could not go to
sleep.
Dozens of times she repeated her cruel speech. She analyzed and parsed
it, as she used to parse sentences years before in her first lessons in
grammar. She named the subject, the predicate, the object, and modifying
words. She tried to define the meaning of the word loyal. What were its
synonyms? Faithful was one, of course. When she closed her eyes, she
could see her speech written in red across a black background like a
flaming sign. Was the Professor hurt or angry or both? She recalled
every kindness he had ever done for her and there were many. She
remembered with a burning blush what pains he and his sister had taken
to make her have a happy Christmas a year ago. He had informed President
Walker on her, of course, but he was only doing his duty. And she had
made that cruel speech!
"I have plenty of time for really loyal friends, Professor Green."
Her mind traveled in a circle. She tossed and turned, trying one side
until it ached and then trying the other; resting on her back for a
moment and finding the position intolerable.
At last she fell asleep and woke up stiff and weary in the morning,
devoutly wishing the day were well over.
She had hoped to see Professor Green in the morning, if only for a
moment, but he had returned to Wellington, leaving the entertainment of
Otoyo in charge of some of his brother's friends.
Of what earthly pleasure is a beautiful corn-colored evening gown when
one's heart is like a lump of lead and one's conscience heavy within?
All her numerous partners at the ball could not console Molly, nor could
the knowledge that she was looking her best as she floated through the
dances in her diaphanous dress.
"I know now how Judy felt after she was so unkind to me at the junior
play," she thought, "and, if heaven is kind to me, I hope never to say
anything to hurt anyone again."
In the meantime there were those who were enjoying themselves to the
utmost limit of enjoyment.
Otoyo Sen, in a seventh heaven, was dancing with young Andy, who towered
above her like a lighthouse over a cottage.
Judy in her black dress was sparkling with vivacity. Her fluffy light
brown hair gleamed yellow and her skin was cream white, against the dark
folds of her chiffon frock. Could this be the same Judy who, only a few
weeks ago, was contemplating--heaven knows what?
Nance, with one eye on Andy, was also happy and light-hearted. How trim
and charming she looked in her white silk dress!
Molly found herself laughing and talking a great deal, and all the time
she was thinking:
"We'll be back to-morrow at noon. On Monday the holidays begin. Oh, if I
can only see him before he goes!"
A great many young men came down to the station to see them off next
morning. There was a din of farewells. On all sides girlish voices were
calling:
"Good-bye!"
"It was the jolliest dance!"
"I never had a better time in all my life!"
"Awfully nice of you to ask us."
Molly had joined in the chorus with the others and had grasped many
outstretched hands and smiled and waved her handkerchief and listened to
Otoyo in one ear, crying:
"Oh, Mees Brown, I do like the American young gentleman veree much,"
while Judy in the other was saying:
"Wasn't it glorious fun? I never saw you look better. I have a dozen
compliments for you."
The car fairly crept back to Wellington, so it seemed to poor Molly. At
last they arrived and a carry-all took them back to the Quadrangle.
Without waiting to explain, she left her suitcase in the hall and ran to
the cloisters. Pausing at the door marked "E. A. Green," she knocked
urgently.
There was no answer. A door farther down the corridor was opened and the
professor of French looked out.
"Professor Green has gone away," he said. "He will not return until
after the holidays."