RUMORS AND MYSTERIES.
How many warm-hearted, impetuous people get themselves into holes
because of those two qualities which are very closely allied indeed;
and Molly Brown was one of those people. Carried away by emotions of
generosity, she found herself constantly going farther than she realized
at the moment. Why, for instance, could she not have put Frances Andrews
off with an excuse for a day or so? Some one would surely have asked her
to the Sophomore-Freshman ball.
And if she had only liked Frances, matters would have been different.
If it had been an act of friendship, of deep devotion. But in spite
of herself, she could not bring herself to trust that strange girl,
beautiful and clever as she undoubtedly was, and sorry as Molly was
for her. After all, it was rather selfish of Frances to have obtained
the promise from Molly. Did she think it would reinstate her in the
affections of her class to be seen in the company of the popular young
freshman?
All this time, Molly said nothing to her friends, but on the morning of
the ball she could not conceal from Judy and Nance her apprehension and
general depression. And seeing their friend's lack-lustre eye and
drooping countenance, they held a counsel of war in Judy's small
bedroom.
At the end of this whispered conference, Judy was heard to remark:
"I'm afraid of the girl, to tell you the truth. Her fiery eyes and her
two-pronged tongue seem to take all the spirit out of me."
"I'm not afraid of her," said Nance, who had a two-pronged tongue of her
own, once she was stirred into action. "You wait here for me, and when I
come back, you can go and notify the sophomores of what's happened. Of
course, Molly will get to the ball all right. The thing is to extricate
her from the situation by the most tactful and surest means."
Judy laughed.
"No," she answered, "the thing is not to let Molly know we have saved
her life."
"If Frances hadn't done that witch's stunt and said all those malicious
things at Molly's Kentucky spread, I don't think I should have minded so
much. And do you know, Judy, that the report has spread abroad that she
and Molly had prepared the whole thing beforehand, speeches and all and
were in league together? You see, Molly was the only one who wasn't
hit."
"You don't mean it," cried Judy. "Then, more than ever, I want to spare
the child the humiliation she might have to suffer if she went with
Frances to-night. Go forth to battle, Nance, and may the saints preserve
you."
Nance girded her sweater about her like a coat of mail, stiffened her
backbone, pressed her lips together and marched out to the fray. She
never told even Judy exactly what took place between Frances and her in
that small room, with its bewildering array of fine trappings, silver
combs and brushes, yellow silk curtains at the window, Turkish rugs,
books and pictures. No one had ever seen the room except Molly the night
of the spread, when it was too dark to make out what was in it.
There was no loud talking. Whatever was said was of the tense quiet
kind, and presently Nance emerged unscathed from the encounter.
"She made me give my word of honor not to tell what was said," she
announced to the palpitating Judy, "but she's writing the note to Molly
now; so go quickly and inform someone that Molly has no escort for the
ball."
Judy departed much mystified and Nance remained discreetly away from her
own room until she perceived Frances steal down the hall, push a note
under their door and then hurry back, bang her own door and lock it.
Then, after a moment's grace, Nance marched boldly to their chamber.
Molly was reading the note.
"What do you think, Nance?" she exclaimed with a tone of evident relief
in her voice, "Frances Andrews can't go to-night."
"Indeed, and what reason does she give?" asked Nance, feeling very much
like a conspirator now that she was obliged to face Molly.
"None. She simply says 'I'm sorry I can't go to-night. Hope you'll enjoy
it. F. A.' How does she expect me to get there, I wonder, at the
eleventh hour?"
Nance examined her finger nails attentively.
"Perhaps she's seen to that," she replied after a pause.
"Nance," said Molly, presently, "I'm so relieved that I think I'll have
to 'fess up. It's mean of me, I know, and I feel awfully ungenerous to
be so glad. You see, nobody can ever tell what strange, freakish thing
she's going to do. Of course she was the witch. I knew it from the
conscious look that came into her face when I told her about it
afterwards."
"The mistake she has made is being defiant instead of repentant," said
Nance. "Instead of trying to brazen it out, she ought to 'walk softly,'
as the Bible says, and keep quiet. She is the most embittered soul I
ever met in all my life. If hatred counted for much, her hatred for her
own class would burn it to a cinder."
There was a sound of hurrying footsteps on the stairs and Judy burst
into the room. Her face was aflame and she flung herself into a chair
panting for breath.
"What's your hurry?" asked Molly, slipping on her jacket. "Excuse me, I
must be chasing along to French. Tell her the news, Nance."
No need to tell Judy news, who had news of her own.
"I tell you, Nance," she exclaimed, "there are times when I think the
position of a freshman is one of the lowliest things in life. The first
sophomore I met was Judith Blount. I did feel a little timid, but I told
her what had happened. 'You can tell your friend,' she said, 'that we
sophomores are not so gullible as all that, and if her nerve has failed
her at the last moment, it's her fault, not ours.'"
"Why, Judy," exclaimed Nance, "you didn't know you were jumping from the
frying pan right into the fire when you told that to Judith Blount, who
has never liked Molly from the beginning. It's jealousy, pure and
simple, I think; although there almost seems to be something more behind
it sometimes. She takes such pains to be disagreeable. Was anyone else
there to hear you?"
"Oh, yes. She was surrounded by her satellites, Jennie Wren and a few
others."
The two girls sat in gloomy silence for a few minutes. After that
rebuff, they hardly cared to circulate the bit of news any further in
the sophomore class, which, it must be confessed, had the reputation of
being run by a clique of the most arrogant and snobbish set of girls
Wellington College had ever known.
"Let's go and tell our woes to nice old Sally Marks," suggested Judy,
and off they marched in search of the good-natured funny Sally, whose
room was on the floor below.
"Come in," she called at their tap on the door, and noticing at once
their serious faces, she exclaimed:
"I declare, I am beginning to feel like the Oracle at Delphi. What's the
trouble, now, my children?"
"You ought never to have gone to Judith Blount," she continued after
they had unburdened their secrets. But having gone to her, "it would be
well," so spake the Oracle, "to sit back and hold tight. The news is
certain to spread, and of course only Judith and her ring would believe
that Molly sent you out to find her an escort. There is one thing sure:
Molly is obliged to go to the dance, not only because she has so many
friends, but because she figures, I am told, so largely in 'Jokes &
Croaks,' and it would be sport spoiled if she wasn't there when the
things are read out. Now, trot along, children, I'm cramming for an
exam., and I'm busier than the busiest person in Wellington to-day."
The afternoon dragged itself slowly along. Nance took her best dress out
of its wrappings, heated a little iron and smoothed out its wrinkles.
She lifted Molly's blue crepe from its hanger and laid it on the couch.
"It was made in the simplest possible way out of the least possible
goods in the least possible time," she informed Judy, who had wickedly
cut a class and sat moping in her friend's room. "Isn't it pretty? We
made it together, and I'm really quite puffed up about the result. It's
Empire, you know," she added proudly.
The dress did indeed show the short Empire waist. The round neck was cut
out and finished with a frill of creamy lace which Molly happened to
have, and there had not been much of a struggle with the sleeves, which
came only to the elbow and were to all intents and purposes shapeless.
But the color was the thing, as Molly had said.
"I'd be willing to drown in a color like that," Judy observed. Judy was
quite a _poseuse_ about colors and assured her friends that she could
never wear red because it inflamed her temper and made her cross; that
violet quieted her nerves; green stirred her ambitions, and blue aroused
her sympathies. While they were looking at the dress, Margaret Wakefield
and Jessie Lynch, her roommate and boon companion, after rapping on the
door, sailed into the room.
"We came to consult about clothes," they announced. "Is this to be an
evening dress affair, or what's proper to wear?"
"The best you have," replied Judy, "at least that's what I was told by
the oracular Sally below stairs."
"For the love of heaven, don't tell that to Jessie," cried Margaret. "If
you give her so much rope, she'll be wearing purple velvet and cloth of
gold."
Jessie laughed good-naturedly. She was already considered the best
dressed and prettiest girl in the freshman class, and it was a joke at
Queen's Cottage that she had been obliged to apply to the matron for
more closet room, because the large one she shared with Margaret
Wakefield was not nearly adequate for her numerous frocks. It had been a
constant wonder to the other girls in the house that these two opposite
types could have become such intimate friends; but friends they were,
and continued to be throughout their college course, although Jessie
never could rake up an interest in the U. S. Constitution or woman's
suffrage, either.
The two girls really formed a sort of combination of brains and beauty,
and it became generally known that Jessie would hardly have pulled
through the four years, except for the indefatigable efforts of her
faithful friend, Margaret.
Mabel Hinton, a Queen's Cottage freshman, now popped her head in at the
door, which was half open. She was a very odd character, but she was
popular with her friends, who called her "The Martian," probably because
she had a phenomenal intellect and wore enormous glasses in tortoise
shell frames which made her eyes look like a pair of full moons.
"I thought I heard a racket," she said in her crisp, catchy voice. "I
suppose you are all discussing the news."
"News? What news?" they demanded.
She closed the door carefully and came farther into the room.
"Gather around me, girls," she said mysteriously, enjoying their
curiosity.
"But what is it, Mabel? Don't keep us in suspense," cried Judy, always
impatient.
"Well, there is evidence that someone was going to set fire to the
gym. to-night," she began, in a whisper. "This morning a bundle of
oil-soaked rags was discovered in a closet, and then they began to
search and found several other bundles like the first. There was a lot
of excitement, and the Prex came over. They tried to keep it quiet, but
the story leaked out, of course, and is still leaking----" she smiled.
The girls exchanged horrified glances. What terrible disaster might not
have befallen them if the rags had not been discovered?
"Of course it was the work of an insane person," said Margaret
Wakefield.
"Of course, but who? Is she one of the students or some outside person?"
With a common instinct, Judy and Nance looked up at the same moment.
Their glances met. Without making a sound, Judy's lips formed the word
"Frances."
"Is the dance to take place, then?" asked Jessie.
"Oh, yes. It's all been hushed up and things will go on just as usual.
I'm going to look on from the balcony. I shan't mingle with the
dancers, because they knock off my spectacles and generally upset my
equilibrium."
The door opened and Molly appeared in their midst like a gracefully
angular wraith, for her face looked white, her shoulders drooped and
her long slim arms hung down at her sides dejectedly.
"Why, Molly, dear, has anything happened to you?" cried Nance.
"No, I won't say that nothing has happened," answered Molly, sinking
into a chair and resting her chin on her hand. "I have been put through
an ordeal this day, why, I can never tell you, but I am glad you are all
here so that I can tell you about it."
They pressed about her, full of sympathy and friendliness, while Judy,
who loved comfort and recognized the needs of the flesh under the most
trying circumstances, lit Nance's alcohol lamp and put on the kettle to
make tea.
"But what is it?" they all demanded, seeing that Molly had fallen into a
silence.
"I've been with the President for the last hour," she said, "though for
what reason I can't explain. I can't imagine why I was sent for and
brought to her private office. She was very nice and kind. She asked me
a lot of questions about myself and all of Queen's girls. I was glad
enough to answer them, because we have nothing to be ashamed of, have
we, girls?" Molly rose and stood before them, spreading out her hands
with a kind of deprecating gesture. The circle of faces before her
almost seemed abashed under the steady gaze of her clear blue eyes. "It
was a pleasure to tell her what nice girls were stopping at Queen's
Cottage."
"Did she mention?" began Judy and pointed to the dividing wall of the
next room.
"Oh, yes, I was coming to that. But what do I know about----" Mollie
stopped short and caught her breath. Her eyes turned towards the door,
which was opened softly. There stood Frances Andrews.
She had evidently just come in, for she still wore her sweater and tam
o' shanter, and brought with her the smell of the fresh piney air.
"It's all right about your escort for to-night, Miss Brown. You are to
go with Miss Stewart, who has got special privilege from the sophomore
president to take you. Good-bye. I hope you'll have a ripping time. I
shan't see you at supper. I'm going off on the 6.15 train and won't be
back until Sunday night."
There was such a tense feeling in the circle of freshmen as Frances
stood there, that, as Judy remarked afterwards, they almost crackled
with electricity.
It was quite late, and as most of the girls intended to dress for the
party before supper, they took their departure immediately without any
comment.
"Is anything special the matter?" asked Molly, after they had gone and
she was left alone with her friends.
They told her the strange story which Mabel Hinton had reported to them
a little while before.
"But that is the work of a lunatic," exclaimed Molly, horrified.
"And I suppose," went on Nance, "that the reason Prexy sent for you was
that she suspected a certain person, who shall be nameless, and she was
told that you were the only person who had ever been nice to her, and
furthermore that you were going to the dance with her."
"Of course that must be the reason," said Molly, "and of course it's
absurd, I mean suspecting Frances Andrews. She might be accused of many
things, but she is certainly in her right mind. She's much cleverer than
lots of the girls in her class."
"Clever, yes. But should you call her balanced?"
Molly did not answer. She felt anxious and frightened, and a rap on the
door at that moment made her jump with nervousness. It proved to be one
of the maids of the house with two boxes of flowers, both for Molly. One
was pink roses and contained the card of Mary Stewart, and the other was
violets, and contained no card whatever.
She divided the violets in half and made her two friends wear them that
night to the dance.