Marjorie returned to school that afternoon in a most perturbed state of
mind, occasioned by Jerry Macy's identification of Rowena Farnham as the
girl whom she had assisted in the working out of the problem in
quadratic equations. She was now almost certain that she had unwittingly
assisted in a most dishonest enterprise. If the papers on Miss Archer's
desk comprised the trial examination to sophomore estate, then Rowena
had no doubt been guilty of tampering with what should concern her only
at the moment when the test began. If they were the sophomore
examination papers, why had Miss Archer left them thus exposed on her
desk? And now what was she, Marjorie, to do about it? She felt that when
she delivered her mother's note to Miss Archer, she ought to inform the
principal of what had occurred during her absence. Yet she hated to do
this. It was tale bearing. Besides, her suspicions might prove
unfounded.
She was still juggling the trying situation when she entered Miss
Archer's office to deliver her captain's note. Should she speak of it or
not? The fact that Miss Archer was now accessible but extremely busy,
with several girls occupying the office benches, caused her to put off
her decision for a time. She stopped only long enough to receive a
kindly welcome from the principal and to perform her mission as
messenger. Then she went dejectedly to her recitation in civil
government, wondering resentfully if the event of the morning was the
beginning of an unpleasant year.
By a determined effort of will, Marjorie put the whole thing aside to
attend strictly to her recitations. But during the study hour that
preceded dismissal for the day, a way of settling the difficulty
presented itself to her. It was not an agreeable way, but her
straightforward soul welcomed it as a means toward settlement. She was
resolved to seek Rowena Farnham and learn the truth. The question of
where to find her was next to be considered. She had not yet made an
appearance into the study hall. Doubtless she was in the little
recitation room on the second floor that was seldom used except in the
case of pupils with special examinations to try. Marjorie mused darkly
as to whether the problem she had obligingly solved would figure in
Rowena's algebra paper.
Half-past three saw Marjorie on her way to the locker room, keeping a
sharp lookout for a tall figure crowned with luxuriant auburn hair. Her
vigilance met with no reward, however, and she left the school building
in company with Irma, Jerry, Constance and Susan, deliberating as to
what she had best do next. Outside the high school she caught no glimpse
of her quarry among the throng of girls that came trooping down the wide
stone steps. Although she took part in her friends' animated
conversation, she was steadily thinking of the self-imposed task that
lay before her.
"Let's go down to Sargent's," proposed Susan, gleefully jingling a
handful of silver that clinked of sundaes and divers delicious cheer.
"You girls go. I can't. I've an errand to do." Marjorie's color rose as
she spoke.
"Do your errand some other time," coaxed Susan. "I may not have any
money to spend to-morrow."
"I'll treat to-morrow," Marjorie assured her. "I can't possibly put off
my errand. You can imagine I'm with you. Always cultivate your
imagination."
Four voices rose to protest her decision, but she remained firm.
"To-morrow," she compromised. "Please don't tease me. I can't really go
with you to-day."
"We'll try to get along without you, just this once," agreed tactful
Constance. Something in Marjorie's manner told her that her friend
wished to go on her way alone.
"Go ahead then, Marjorie. Do your errand, faithful child," consented
Jerry, who had also scented the unusual and shrewdly speculated as to
whether it had anything to do with their conversation of the morning.
Anxious, yet regretful, to be free of her chums, Marjorie said good-bye
and hurried off in an opposite direction. Jerry had said that the
Farnhams lived in the beautiful residence that adjoined Mignon La
Salle's home. It was not a long walk, yet how Marjorie dreaded it. Given
that Rowena were at home, Mignon would, perhaps, be with her. That would
make matters doubly hard. Yet she could do no less than carry out the
interview she felt must take place at the earliest possible moment.
It was a very grave little girl who opened the ornamental iron gate and
proceeded reluctantly up the long driveway to the huge brown stone
house, set in the midst of a wide expanse of tree-dotted lawn. For all
the residence was a magnificent affair, Marjorie shivered as she mounted
the massive stone steps. There was little of the atmosphere of home
about it.
"Is Miss Rowena Farnham here?" was her low-voiced question of the
white-capped maid who answered the door.
"She hasn't come home from school yet, miss," informed the maid. "Will
you step into the house and wait for her?"
"Yes, thank you." Marjorie followed the woman into a high-ceilinged,
beautifully appointed, square hall and across it to a mammoth
drawing-room, very handsomely furnished, but cheerless, nevertheless.
She felt very small and insignificant as she settled herself lightly on
an ornate gilt chair, to await the arrival of Rowena.
Her vigil was destined to be tedious, unbroken by the sight of anyone
save the maid, who passed through the hall once or twice on her way to
answer the bell. Even she did not trouble herself to glance through the
half-parted brocade portieres at the lonely little figure in the room
beyond. Consulting her wrist watch, Marjorie read five o'clock. She had
been waiting for over an hour. She guessed that the girl on whom she had
come to call must be with Mignon La Salle. There was at least a grain of
comfort for her in this conjecture. If Mignon were at home now, there
was small chance that she would be present at the interview.
An impatient hand on the bell sent a shrill, reverberating peal through
the great house. An instant and she heard the maid's voice, carefully
lowered. There came the sound of quick, questioning tones, which she
recognized. Rowena had at last put in an appearance. Immediately there
followed a flinging back of the concealing portieres and the girl who
had sprung into Marjorie's knowledge so unbecomingly that morning walked
into the room.
"You wished to see----Oh, it's you!" The tall girl's black eyes swept her
uninvited guest with an expression far from cordial.
"Yes, it is I," Marjorie's inflection was faintly satirical. "I made a
mistake about you this morning. I thought you were Miss Archer's new
secretary." She lost no time in going directly to the point.
For answer Rowena threw back her auburn head and laughed loudly. "I
fooled you nicely, didn't I?" According to outward signs her conscience
was apparently untroubled.
"Yes," returned Marjorie quietly. "Why did you do it?"
Rowena's laughing lips instantly took on a belligerent curve. The very
evenness of the inquiry warned her that trouble was brewing for her.
"See here," she began rudely, "what did you come to my house for? I'm
not pleased to see you. Judging from several things I've heard, I don't
care to know you."
Marjorie paled at the rebuff. She had half expected it, yet now that it
had come she did not relish it. At first meeting she had been irritated
by the other girl's almost rude indifference. Now she had dropped all
semblance of courtesy.
"I hardly think it matters about your knowing or not knowing me," she
retorted in the same carefully schooled tone. "You, of course, are the
one to decide that. What does matter is this--I must ask you to tell me
exactly why you wished me to work out that quadratic problem for you. It
is quite necessary that I should know."
"Why is it so necessary?"
"Because I must believe one of two things," was Marjorie's grave
response. "I must have the truth. I won't be kept in the dark about it.
Either you only pretended to play secretary as a rather peculiar joke,
or else you did it purposely because----" She hesitated, half ashamed to
accuse the other of dishonesty.
"What will you do if I say I did it on purpose?" tantalized Rowena. "Go
to your Miss Archer, I suppose, with a great tale about me. I understand
that is one of your little pastimes. Now listen to me, and remember what
I say. You think I was prying into those examination papers, don't you?"
"I'd rather not think so." Marjorie raised an honest, appealing glance
to meet the mocking gleam of Rowena's black eyes.
"Who cares what _you_ think? You are a goody-goody, and I never saw one
yet that I'd walk across the street with. Whatever I want, I always get.
Remember that, too. If your dear Miss Archer hadn't been called to
another part of the building, I might never have had a chance to read
over those examinations. She went away in a hurry and left me sitting in
the office. Naturally, as her desk was open, I took a look to see what
there was to see. I wasn't afraid of any subject but algebra. I'm n. g.
in that. So I was pretty lucky to get a chance to read over the
examination. I knew right away by the questions that it was the one I'd
have to try.
"My father promised me a pearl necklace if I'd pass all my tests for the
sophomore class. Of course I wanted to win it. That quadratic problem
counted thirty credits. It meant that without it I'd stand no chance to
pass algebra. I couldn't do it, and I was in despair when you came into
the office. If you hadn't been so stupid as to take me for Miss Archer's
secretary and hadn't said you were a junior, I'd have let you alone.
That secretary idea wasn't bad, though. It sent those other girls about
their business. I thought _you_ could do that problem if _I_ couldn't.
It's a good thing you did. I copied it in examination this afternoon and
I know it's right," she ended triumphantly.
Sheer amazement of the girl's bold confession rendered Marjorie silent.
Never in all her life had she met a girl like Rowena Farnham. Her calm
admittance to what Marjorie had suspected was unbelievable. And she
appeared to feel no shame for her dishonesty. She gloried in it. Finding
her voice at last, the astounded and dismayed interviewer said with
brave firmness: "I can't look at this so lightly, Miss Farnham. It
wasn't fair in you to deceive me into doing a thing like that."
"What's done can't be undone," quoted Rowena, seemingly undisturbed by
the reproof. "You are as deep in the mud as I am in the mire. You helped
me, you know."
"I will not be included in such dishonesty." Marjorie sprang angrily to
her feet and faced Rowena. "If Miss Archer knew this she would not
accept your algebra paper. She might not wish to accept you as a pupil,
either. I hoped when I came here this afternoon that everything would
turn out all right, after all. I hoped that paper might not be the
algebra test you were to have. I don't wish to tell Miss Archer, yet
it's not fair to either of us that you should masquerade under false
colors. You have put me in a very hard position."
It was now Rowena who grew angry. During the interview she had remained
standing, looking down on the girl in the chair with amused contempt.
Marjorie's flash of resentment unleashed a temper that had ever been the
despair of Rowena's father and mother. Her dark eyes glowed like live
coals, her tall, slender body shook with fury. "If you dare go to Miss
Archer with what I've told you, I'll put you in a much harder position.
I'll make you lose every friend you have in school. I know all about
you. You've bullied and snubbed poor Mignon La Salle and made her lose
_her_ friends. But you can't bully or threaten or snub me. I didn't want
to come to Sanford to live. It's nothing but a little, silly country
town. I didn't want to go to your old school. My father and mother make
me go. My father doesn't believe in select boarding schools, so I have
to make the best of it. If I pass my examinations into the sophomore
class I'll make it my business to see that I get whatever I take a
notion to have. You can't stop me. I've always done as I pleased at home
and I'll do as I please in school. If you tell Miss Archer about this
morning, I'll see that you get more blame than I. Don't forget that,
either."
Marjorie felt as though she had been caught in a pelting rain of
hail-stones. Yet the furious flow of vituperation which beat down upon
her did not in the least intimidate her. "I am not afraid of anything
you may do or say," she returned, a staunch little figure of dignified
scorn. "I came to see you in all good faith, willing to give you the
benefit of the doubt. Now that I understand exactly how you feel about
this affair, I won't trouble you further. Good afternoon."
"Stop! What are you going to do?" called Rowena. Marjorie had already
passed into the hall. "You've got to tell me before you leave this
house." She darted after her steadily retreating caller, cheeks flaming.
At the outer door, Marjorie paused briefly, her hand on the dead latch.
"I said 'good afternoon,'" was her sole response. Then she let herself
out and walked proudly away from the house of inhospitality, oblivious
to the torrent of hot words which the irate Rowena shrieked after her
from the veranda.