When, at eight o'clock, Leila Harper knocked on Marjorie's door, the
vision who opened it brought a gleam of triumph to her bright blue eyes.
Marjorie was wearing the frock of Chinese crêpe and looking her
beautiful, young-girl best in it. The dress was exquisite enough in
itself. Worn by her it seemed invested with fresh beauty. In turn, it
lent to her a certain soft loveliness which no other frock she had ever
possessed had brought out.
"Oh, my stars, what a dream you are, little Miss Dean!" praised Leila,
laughingly adopting a touch of brogue which she used to perfection.
Inwardly she was so delighted she could have squealed for joy. Her
appraising eyes instantly picked Marjorie's frock as unique.
Veronica, who was talking animatedly to Vera, her escort, as she drew on
her long gloves, looked equally charming in her own way. She was attired
in an imported gown of pleated French chiffon in two shades of silvery
gray. It was banded about the square neck and very short pleated sleeves
with black velvet ribbon on which were embroidered a Persian pattern of
silver stars. The wide black velvet ribbon sash was also thickly
star-studded, as were her black satin slippers.
Jerry, who had gone on with Helen, was wearing a stunning gown of old
gold satin with deeper gold embroideries. Lucy, thanks to Veronica, had
had the severity of her white organdie graduation gown transformed by a
fine white lace overdress which Ronny had fairly forced upon her,
together with a pale green satin sash with fringed ends, a pair of
embroidered white silk stockings and a pair of white satin slippers.
Muriel, who had also gone ahead with her ceremonious escort, was the
true Picture Girl, as Marjorie loved to call her, in a pale lavender
silk net over lavender taffeta. At her belt she wore a huge bunch of
lavender orchids, for which gallant Moretense had sent to New York.
The gymnasium was not far from Wayland Hall, therefore the democratic
element of sophomores who lived there had not favored taking their
freshmen to the dance in automobiles. Leila Harper, Hortense Barlow and
Vera Mason had their own motor cars at Hamilton, in a near-by garage,
but common sense smiled at using them in preference to the short walk
under the twinkling autumn stars.
"Don't forget your violets, Marjorie," called Veronica over her
shoulder, as she went out the door. "I'll wait for you downstairs.
Pardon me, I forgot I was being escorted," she made laughing apology to
Vera. "We'll wait for you, I should have said."
"As if I could forget these darlings!" Marjorie took an immense bunch of
single, long-stemmed violets from a vase of water and wiping them gently
re-rolled the stems in their sheath of silver and violet paper. "They
are my favorite flower," she told Leila. "They go perfectly with this
frock." She pinned them securely against her sash with a quaint silver
clasp pin. "There, I won't be likely to lose them!"
"Would you mind telling a poor Irish girl where under the stars that
gown grew?" Leila had not been able to remove her eyes from it long at a
time.
Marjorie obligingly complied, going further to tell of the happy
surprise which had attended the receipt of it.
"Your father must love you oceans," Leila said almost sadly. "My father
died when I was three. I have a step-father. He is not so much to my
liking. My mother and he maintain a residence in the United States, but
they are in England most of the time. I live with my father's sister
when I am home on vacations. She is keen on clubs and welfare work. She
allows me to do as I please. What kind of life is that for a young
girl?" Leila shrugged her white shoulders with true Irish melancholy.
Dressed in a beautiful gown of old rose Georgette with a partial
over-frock of frost-like white lace, she was a magnificent study. The
combination of fine, strong features which went to make up her face,
made it striking rather than beautiful.
Suddenly her brooding features broke into smiling light. "Pay no
attention to me. Let's be off to the dance. Just a word before we go. I
wish you would feel that I am your true friend. If, when we first met,
you thought me, well--not quite frank, it was because I wished to be sure
that I liked you. That's all, except, remember what I have just said
about being your friend."
"I will," Marjorie promised gravely. "I shall hope always to prove
myself your true friend." She offered her hand.
Leila took it and shook it vigorously. "Now we have a bargain," she
said. "Never forget it."
In the lower hall they found Ronny and Vera Mason waiting, and the four
stopped only long enough to cover their fine raiment, temporarily, with
evening capes. During the short walk through the soft fall night Leila
made them all laugh with her funny sallies. She had apparently lost her
recent pensive mood. Nevertheless at intervals that evening the hopeless
melancholy of her tone came back to Marjorie. She thought Leila must
have been born in Ireland, for she was at times utterly un-American in
her manner of speaking.
The scene of festivity upon which they presently came was one of color
and light. The great room was already well-filled with merry-makers,
each in her prettiest gown. From a corner of the room, screened by palms
and huge branches of red and yellow autumn leaves, an orchestra was
playing a _valse lente_. That the sophs had outdone anything for several
years in the way of artistic decorations was the opinion of the faculty,
present almost to a member. Though they graciously lent their presence
to an affair, such as the freshmen's frolic, they obligingly left the
dance early, rarely remaining more than an hour.
The San Soucians were well represented in the receiving line, the
majority having been appointed to it by their ally, Joan Myers. Lined
up, they made a gorgeous appearance. The majority of them were attired
in frocks of striking colors and displayed considerable jewelry. Looking
up and down the long row, it seemed to Marjorie that she glimpsed the
white fire of diamonds on every girl that composed it. It struck her as
rather ridiculous that, so long as the Sans Soucians snubbed the
majority of the students, they should wish to be on a committee to
receive the very girls they affected not to know.
"Be easy," remarked Leila, in a tone which only Ronny, Vera and Marjorie
heard. "We are to run the one-sided gauntlet, it seems. Let us be about
it and have it done. Follow your leader and not too much cordiality.
They have none for us, though they will be sweet on the surface."
These being the first remarks of the kind Marjorie had heard Leila make,
she glanced at the latter rather searchingly. Leila was not looking at
her. Her eyes were playing up and down the receiving line, a world of
veiled contempt in their blue depths.
As the quartette approached the row of brightly-garbed young women, Joan
Myers, who stood at its head, bent a steady stare upon Marjorie. Next
she turned to the girl on her left and muttered in her ear. The latter
chanced to be Natalie Weyman, resplendent in an apricot satin frock,
with over panels of seed pearls on satin and a garniture of the same at
the very low bodice. The gown was sleeveless, and smacked more of the
stage than of a college frolic. A cluster of peculiar orange and white
orchids trailed across one shoulder. These Marjorie could honestly
admire. Of Natalie's gown she did not approve.
At sight of Marjorie, Natalie's face grew dark. Nor did the further
sight of Veronica improve her sulky expression. How she managed to smile
and murmur a few words of welcome she hardly knew. She was literally
seething with jealous rage at the two freshmen. Her eyes did not deceive
her as to the distinction of their frocks. She knew after a first
appraising glance that there were no others in the room to compete with
them. They were the unobtainable so far as money went. They were the
kind of frocks that only proper influence might secure. She forgot her
earlier grudge against Marjorie's loveliness in jealousy viewing her
later offense.
Piloted by Leila, the quartette made short work of being received by as
chilly a lot of young patronesses as jealousy could furnish. When they
had won clear of the receiving line, Leila indulged in a subdued ripple
of laughter.
"Oh, my heart, but were they not icy?" she inquired, her eyes dancing.
"Vera, did you see Nat Weyman's face? She used to be jealous of you. Now
she has other trouble to worst."
"Don't mind Leila's outbreak," Vera turned to Marjorie and Ronny who
were looking eagerly about them, charmed by the animated scene. "She
can't endure Natalie Weyman, and neither can I. This is not the place to
say such things, but we are not fond of the Sans and we had rather you
knew it. It will help you to understand much that may happen later on."
Vera colored as she said this. She felt that it would in a measure
mitigate any displeasure that Marjorie in particular might afterward
feel for Leila.
"We do not know much of the Sans Soucians, but we are not in favor of
snobs," Ronny made steady utterance. She had seen the dark glance
Natalie Weyman had leveled at Marjorie, and quite understood Leila's
comments. She could also understand why Vera had aroused the vain
sophomore's jealousy. Vera's white chiffon frock over pale green
taffeta, made her look like a fairy queen who might have stepped from
the heart of a white flower to attend the frolic.
"We know that. Otherwise you might be escorting yourselves here for all
Vera and I should care," returned Leila with a genial smile that was
irresistible. "Let us bury them deep, as we say in Kilarney, and have a
good time. I wish you to meet two or three pets of mine among the
seniors. Then off to the dance we shall wend. I tell you now, I am a
fine Irish gentleman when it comes to playing the part at a hop."
With Leila doing the honors, the two Lookouts had a lively time for the
next half hour. Though the dancing had begun, she insisted upon parading
the three girls from one end of the gymnasium to the other. She appeared
to have a wide acquaintance among the juniors and the seniors.
Consequently Ronny and Marjorie met girls they had seen on the campus,
but whom as upper class young women they had hardly hoped to meet.
When they finally joined in the dancing, which both had been longing to
do, they were soon besieged with invitations. It was such a complete
surprise to both, which they refused mentally to stop and think about
it, preferring to drift comfortably along on the tide of youthful
enjoyment. It was an hour after their arrival before they had an
opportunity to talk with Jerry, Lucy and Muriel. All three had been
enjoying themselves hugely. Lucy had had an interesting, though short,
talk with Professor Wenderblatt, the director of the biology department,
whose daughter, Lillian, was a freshman. She had met them both through
Katherine. The latter and herself were now rejoicing in an invitation to
dinner at the Wenderblatts on the following Sunday.
Jerry, according to her own enthusiastic version, was simply falling all
over herself with happiness. Helen was the "Prince of Hamilton" when it
came to playing escort. Muriel was no less pleased. She gigglingly
confided to her chums that Moretense was considerably less tense when
she danced than she had expected to find her.
The delightful evening had winged its way toward eleven o'clock when,
after a spirited fox trot, the bell in the gymnasium clanged out the
five strokes which stood for "attention" at Hamilton. Instant with the
last stroke, a breathless silence fell. It was broken by a high-pitched
call from one side of the gymnasium. From an ante room a figure in a
page's costume of hunter's green darted out and ran to the center of the
floor. Trumpet to her lips, the sophomore page played a lively little
rondelay. It was answered from the ante room on the oppo-side and
another page, similarly clad, joined the first. Another fanfare of
trumpets and three figures in dark brown robes with immense snow-white
wigs appeared from the left-hand ante-room.
"Hear ye! Hear ye! Comes now a friende to Beautye brighte. An ye are
fair, O, maid, the Beautye crowne shall win ye! Mayhap, mayhap! An ye
are fair!"
The voice of the central be-wigged figure echoed through the room. The
owner was a senior who sang bass in the Idlehour Glee Club, hence the
robust tones.
"What is it to be? I don't understand," was whispered about the room.