"I'm ready to go to school, Captain!" Marjorie Dean popped her curly
head into the living room. "Is the note ready, too? It's simply dear in
you to give me a chance to call on Miss Archer."
"Just a moment." Mrs. Dean hastily addressed an envelope and slipped
into it the note she had just finished writing. "I could mail it, I
suppose, but I thought you might like to play special messenger," she
observed, handing Marjorie the note.
"It was a glorious thought," laughed Marjorie. "I wanted to see Miss
Archer yesterday, but I didn't like to go to her office on the very
first day without a good excuse. Do I look nice, Captain?" she inquired
archly.
"You know you do, vain child." Mrs. Dean surveyed the dainty figure of
her daughter with pardonable pride. "That quaint flowered organdie frock
exactly suits you. Now salute your captain and hurry along. I don't care
to have you tardy on my account."
Marjorie embraced her mother in her usual tempestuous fashion and went
skipping out of the house and down the stone walk with the joyous
abandon of a little girl. Once the gate had swung behind her she dropped
into a more decorous gait as she hurried along the wide, shady street
toward school. "Oh, goodness!" she murmured. When within two blocks of
the high school building she glimpsed the City Hall clock. Its huge,
black hands pointed to five minutes to nine. "I'll have to run for it,"
was her dismayed reflection. "If I hurry, I can make it. I won't have
time to put my hat in my new junior locker, though."
Decorum now discarded, Marjorie set off on a brisk run that brought her
into the locker room at precisely one minute to nine. Hastily depositing
her dainty rose-trimmed leghorn on a convenient window ledge, she ran up
the basement stairs to the study hall, gaining the seat assigned to her
the previous day just as the nine o'clock bell clanged forth its
warning. She smiled rather contemptuously as she noted the disapproving
glance Miss Merton flung in her direction. She had escaped a scolding by
virtue of a few brief seconds.
"_She_ hasn't changed a bit," was Marjorie's inward judgment, as she
turned her gaze upon the rows of students; called together again to
continue their earnest march along the road of education. Her heart
thrilled with pride as she noted how few vacant seats the great study
hall held. The freshman class was unusually large. She noticed there
were a number of girls she had never before seen. It looked, too, as
though none of last year's freshmen had dropped out of school. As for
the juniors, they were all present, even to Mignon La Salle. But how
decidedly grown-up the French girl looked! Her black curls were arranged
in an ultra-fashionable knot at the back of her head that made her
appear several years older than she really was. Her gown, too, an
elaborate affair of sage green pongee, with wide bands of heavy
insertion, added to her years. She looked very little like a school girl
Marjorie thought.
Lost in contemplation of the new Mignon, she was rudely reminded of the
fact that she was staring by Mignon herself. Their eyes meeting, Mignon
made a face at Marjorie by way of expressing her candid opinion of the
girl she disliked. Marjorie colored and hastily looked away, amused
rather than angry at this display of childishness. It hardly accorded
with her grown-up air. She had not realized that she had been guilty of
staring. Her mind was intent on trying to recall something she had heard
in connection with the French girl that now eluded her memory. Shrugging
her shoulders she dismissed it as a matter of small consequence.
As the members of the four classes were still vacillating between which
subjects to take up and which to exclude from their programs of study,
classes that morning were to mean a mere business of assembling in the
various recitation rooms, there to receive the first instructions from
the special teachers before settling down to the usual routine of
lessons.
For her junior program, Marjorie had decided upon third year French,
English Literature, Cæsar's Commentaries and civil government. As she
had recently begun piano lessons, she had wisely concluded that, with
piano practice, four subjects would keep her sufficiently busy. Her
interest in music had developed as a result of her association with
Constance Stevens. She yearned to be able some day to accompany
Constance's beautiful voice on the piano. Mrs. Dean had long deplored
the fact that Marjorie was not interested in becoming at least a fair
pianist. Herself a musician of considerable skill, she believed it a
necessary accomplishment for girls and was delighted when Marjorie had
announced that she wished to begin lessons on the piano.
By reciting English literature during the first period of the morning
and French the second, the last period before noon was hers for study.
Civil government and Cæsar recitations the first two periods of the
afternoon left her the last hour of that session free. She had always
tried to arrange her subjects to gain that coveted afternoon period, and
now she felt especially pleased at being able to also reserve the last
period of the morning for study.
It was while she sat in her old place in French class, listening to the
obsequiously polite adjurations of Professor Fontaine, that she
remembered the still undelivered note from her mother to Miss Archer.
"I'm a faithless messenger," was her rueful thought. "I'll hurry to Miss
Archer's office with Captain's note the minute class is over."
Contritely patting a fold of her lace-trimmed blouse where she had
tucked the letter for safe-keeping, Marjorie gave strict attention to
the earnestly-exhorting instructor.
"Eet ees een thees class that we shall read the great works of the
incomparable French awthors," he announced with an impressive roll of
r's. "Eet ees of a truth necessary that you should become familiar weeth
them. You moost, therefore, stoody your lessons and be thus always
preepaired. Eet ees sad when my pupeels come to me with so many fleemsy
excuses. Thees year I shall nevaire accept them. I most eenseest that
you preepaire each day the lesson for the next."
Marjorie smiled to herself. The long-suffering professor was forever
preaching a preparedness, which it never fell to his lot to see
diligently practised by the majority of his pupils. Personally, she
could not be classed among the guilty. Her love of the musical language
kept her interest in it unflagging, thereby making her one of the
professor's most dependable props.
The recitation over, she paused to greet the odd little man, who
received her with delight, warmly shaking her hand. "Eet ees a grand
plaisir thus to see you again, Mees Marjorie," he declared. "Ah, I am
assured that you at least weel nevaire say 'oonpreepaired.'"
"I'll try not to. I'm ever so glad to see you, too, Professor Fontaine."
After a brief exchange of pleasantries she left the class room a trifle
hurriedly and set off to call on Miss Archer.
Entering the spacious living-room office, she was forcibly reminded that
Marcia Arnold's high school days had ended on the previous June. The
pretty room was quite deserted. Marjorie sighed as she glanced toward
the vacant chair, drawn under the closed desk that had been Marcia's.
How much she would miss her old friend. Since that day long past on
which they had come to an understanding, she and Marcia had found much
in common. Marjorie sighed regretfully, wondering who Miss Archer's next
secretary would be.
As there was no one about to announce her, she walked slowly toward the
half-closed door of the inner office. Pausing just outside, she peeped
in. Her eyes widened with surprise as she caught sight of an unfamiliar
figure. A tall, very attractive young woman stood before the principal's
desk, busily engaged in the perusal of a printed sheet of paper which
she held in her hand. It looked as though Miss Archer had already
secured someone in Marcia's place.
"May I come in, please?" Marjorie asked sweetly, halting in the doorway.
The girl at the desk uttered a faint exclamation. The paper she held
fluttered to the desk. A wave of color dyed her exquisitely tinted skin
as she turned a pair of large, startled, black eyes upon the intruder.
For a second the two girls eyed each other steadily. Marjorie conceived
a curious impression that she had seen this stranger before, yet it was
too vague to convey to her the slightest knowledge of the other's
identity.
"You are Miss Archer's new secretary, are you not?" she asked frankly.
"You can tell me, perhaps, where to find her. I have a note to deliver
to her personally."
A quick shade of relief crossed the other girl's suddenly flushing face.
Smiling in self-possessed fashion, she said, "Miss Archer will not be
back directly. I cannot tell you when she will return."
"I think I'll wait here for her," decided Marjorie. "I have no
recitation this period."
The stranger's arched brows arched themselves a trifle higher. "As you
please," she returned indifferently. She again turned her attention to
the papers on the desk.
Seating herself on the wide oak bench, Marjorie took speculative stock
of the new secretary. "What a stunning girl," was her mental opinion.
"She's dressed rather too well for a secretary, though," flashed across
her as she noted the smart gown of white china silk, the very cut of
which pointed to the work of a high-priced modiste. "I suppose she's
getting examination papers ready for the new pupils. I wonder why she
doesn't sit down."
As she thus continued to cogitate regarding the stranger, the girl
frowned deeply at another paper she had picked up and swung suddenly
about. "Are you just entering high school?" she asked with direct
abruptness.
"Oh, no." Marjorie smilingly shook her head. "I am a junior."
"Are you?" The stranger again lost herself in puzzled contemplation of
the paper. Hearing an approaching footfall she made a quick move toward
the center of the office, raising her eyes sharply to greet a girl who
had come in quest of Miss Archer. Promptly disposing of the seeker, she
returned to her task. Several times after that she was interrupted by
the entrance of various students, whom she received coolly and dismissed
with, "Not here. I don't know when Miss Archer will return." Marjorie
noted idly that with every fresh arrival, the young woman continued to
move well away from the desk.
Marjorie watched her in fascination. She was undoubtedly beautiful in a
strangely bold fashion, but apparently very cold and self-centered. She
had received the students who had entered the office with a brusqueness
that bordered on discourtesy. Two or three of them, whom Marjorie knew,
had greeted her in friendly fashion, at the same time mutely questioning
with uplifted brows as to whom this stranger might be.
"This problem in quadratic equations is a terror," the girl at the desk
suddenly remarked, her finger pointing to a row of algebraic symbols on
the paper she was still clutching. "Algebra's awfully hard, isn't it?"
"I always liked it," returned Marjorie, glad of a chance to break the
silence. "What is the problem?"
"Come here," ordered the other girl. "I don't call _that_ an easy
problem. Do you?"
Marjorie rose and approached the desk. The stranger handed her the
paper, indexing the vexatious problem.
"Oh, that's not so very hard," was Marjorie's light response.
"Can you work it out?" came the short inquiry, a note of suppressed
eagerness in the questioner's voice.
"Why, I suppose so. Can't you?"
"I was trying it before you came in just for fun. I've forgotten my
algebra, I guess. I don't believe I got the right result. It's rather
good practice to review, isn't it?"
"She must be a senior," sprang to Marjorie's mind. Aloud, she agreed
that it was. "I ought not to have forgotten my algebra," she added.
"It's only a year since I finished it."
"See if you think I did this right, will you? I'm curious to know." The
stranger thrust into her hand a second paper, covered with figures.
Marjorie inspected it, feeling only mildly interested. "No; you made a
mistake here. It goes this way. Have you a pencil?"
The pencil promptly forthcoming, the obliging junior seated herself at a
nearby table and diligently went to work. So busy was she that she
failed to note the covert glances which her companion sent now and then
toward the door. But, during the brief space of time in which Marjorie
was engaged with the difficult equation, no one came. Altogether she had
not been in the office longer than fifteen minutes. To her it seemed at
least half an hour.
"Here you are." She tendered the finished work to the other girl, who
seized it eagerly with a brief, "Thank you. I can see where I made my
mistake when I have time to compare the two." With a smile, which
Marjorie thought a trifle patronizing, she carelessly nodded her
gratitude. Laying the printed examination sheet on a pile of similar
papers, she placed a weight upon them and walked gracefully from the
office, taking with her the two sheets of paper, bearing the results of
her own and Marjorie's labor.
Another fifteen minutes went by. Still no one came, except a student or
two in quest of Miss Archer. Marjorie decided that she would wait no
longer. She would come back again that afternoon, before the second
session opened. It was almost noon. Were she to return to the study hall
just then, it meant to court the caustic rebuke of Miss Merton. The
locker room offered her a temporary refuge. Accordingly, she wended her
steps toward it.
"Where were you that last period?" demanded Jerry Macy, coming up behind
her as she stood at the mirror adjusting her rose-weighted hat.
"Oh, Jerry! How you startled me." Marjorie swung about. "I was up in
Miss Archer's office."
"So soon?" teased Jerry, putting on a shocked expression. "I _am_
surprised."
"Don't be so suspicious," responded Marjorie, adopting Jerry's bantering
tone. "I had a note, if you please, from Captain, to deliver to Miss
Archer. I saw the new secretary, too."
"Humph!" ejaculated Jerry. "You must have only thought you saw her. So
far as I know Miss Archer hasn't secured a secretary yet."
"But she must have," Marjorie insisted. "There was a tall girl in her
office when I went there. She must surely be the girl to take Marcia's
place, for she was standing at Miss Archer's desk, going over some
papers."
"That's funny. What did she look like? You said she was tall?"
"Yes; tall and very pretty. She had big, black eyes and perfectly
gorgeous auburn hair----" Marjorie broke off with a puzzled frown. Her own
words had a curious reminiscent ring. Someone else had said the very
same thing about----Who had said it, and about whom had it been said?
"Now I know you didn't see Miss Archer's new secretary," cried Jerry in
triumph. "There's only one person that can answer to your description.
She's that Rowena Farnham I told you about, Mignon's side partner. I
told you she was going to enter the sophomore class. She was probably
waiting for Miss Archer herself. She has to try her exams, I suppose."
"But what was she doing at Miss Archer's desk?" asked Marjorie sharply.
"Why did she answer me and make me think she was the secretary? She told
several other girls that Miss Archer was out!"
"Search me," replied Jerry inelegantly. "If she's much like Mignon it's
hard to tell what she was up to. Believe me, they're a precious pair of
trouble-makers and don't you forget it."
"I ought to have recognized her," faltered Marjorie. A curious sense of
dread had stolen over her. "Don't you remember Mary described her almost
as I did just now, that day you came to see us, when first you got back
to Sanford?"
"Well, nobody's going to kill you because you didn't, are they?"
inquired Jerry with a grin. "What's the matter? What makes you look so
solemn?"
"Oh, I was just wondering," evaded Marjorie. Outwardly only slightly
ruffled, tumult raged within. She had begun to see clearly what had
hitherto been obscure and the revelation was a severe shock. All she
could hope was that what she now strongly suspected might not, after
all, be true.