CHAPTER X
AN OFFENDED FRESHMAN
At dinner that night excitement reigned. Every girl in the house wasgoing to the reception. To dispose of one's dinner and hurry to one'sroom to begin the all important task of dressing was the order ofprocedure, and Mrs. Elwood's flock rose from the table almost in a bodyand made a concerted rush for the stairs.
"She got them," Elfreda informed the others as they stopped for a momentin the hall. "I went to the door to ask her. She even thanked me forthem."
"Wonderful," smiled Miriam. "Come on now. Remember, time flies and thatyour new white frock is a dream."
An hour later Elfreda stood before the mirror viewing herself with greatsatisfaction. "It certainly is some class," she declared. "There I goagain. I haven't used slang for a week. But circumstances alter cases,you know. Just pretend you didn't hear it, will you? I think I'll wearmy violets at my girdle. I don't look very stout in this rig, do I? Youlook like a princess, Miriam. You're a regular howling beauty in thatcorn-colored frock. Where are my gloves and my cloak? Oh, here they are,just where I put them. Now, I must go for her highness. Br--r--" Elfredashivered, giggled, then gathering up her cloak and gloves switched outthe door.
Miriam smiled to herself as she went about gathering up her own effects,then fastening the cluster of yellow rosebuds to the waist of her gownshe hurried out into the hall in time to encounter Grace and Anne.
"We are fortunate in that our ladies live under the same roof with us,"laughed Anne.
"It certainly saves carriage hire," returned Grace. "Here comes Elfredaand Miss Atkins. What on earth is she wearing?"
"I think I'll go for my freshman," said Miriam, her voice quiveringsuspiciously.
By the time Elfreda and the Anarchist had reached the head of thestairs, the three girls had fled precipitately, unable to control theirmirth. Elfreda's face was set in a solemn expression that defiedlaughter. As for the Anarchist herself, she might easily have posed as astatue of vengeance. Her eyebrows were drawn into a ferocious scowl. Shewalked down the stairs with the air of an Indian chief about to tomahawka victim. Her white silk gown, which was well cut and in keeping withthe occasion, contrasted oddly with her threatening demeanor, which wasenhanced by a feather hair ornament that stood up belligerently at oneside of her head.
"If she wouldn't wear that feather thing she'd be all right," mutteredGrace in Anne's ear. "She looks like Hiawatha. She has made up her mindto be nice with Elfreda. She's wearing her flowers. I wonder if I'dbetter ask her to dance to-night. Shall you ask her, Anne?"
"I think so," reflected Anne. "I can't lead very well, but perhaps shecan."
"I don't believe I'll ask her," said Grace slowly. "Humiliating one'sself needlessly is just as bad as having too much pride."
"Hurry," called Miriam, who was already on the stairs. "The carriagesare here."
It was a ridiculously short drive to the gymnasium, but, a fine rainhaving set in, carriages for one's freshmen guests were a matter ofnecessity. Elfreda and her charge occupied seats in the same carriagewith Anne and Mildred Taylor, who, in a gown of pink chiffon over pinksilk, looked, according to Elfreda, "too sweet to live."
"How are you getting along with Miss Atkins?" asked Grace an hour later,running up and waylaying Elfreda, who was slowly making her way acrossthe gymnasium toward the corner of the room where the big punch bowl oflemonade stood.
"Don't ask me!" returned Elfreda savagely. "I managed to fill her dancecard and supposed everything was lovely. She dances fairly well. Ifshe'd only keep quiet, smile and dance calmly along. But, no, she musttalk!" Elfreda's round face settled into lines of disgust. "She sayssuch outrageously personal things to her partners. I know of threedifferent girls she has offended so far. What will become of her beforethe evening is over?" she inquired gloomily. "She told me I was toostout to dance well, but I didn't mind that. Stout or not, she will belucky to have even me to dance with at the rate she's going. Let's drownour mortification in lemonade."
"Poor Elfreda," sympathized Grace. "I wish I could help you, but,honestly, I feel as though it would be hardly fair to myself to makefurther advances in that direction."
"Don't do it," advised Elfreda, quickly, handing Grace a cup of fruitlemonade. "I'll manage to steer her through this dance. But next timesome one else may do the inviting. The two classes make a good showing,don't they?"
"Beautiful," commented Grace. "The gymnasium looks prettier than it didlast year. That sounds conceited, doesn't it?"
"It's true, though," averred Elfreda stoutly. "Doesn't Miriam lookstunning to-night? I think she is the handsomest dark girl I ever saw,don't you?"
"With one exception," smiled Grace.
"Show me the exception, then," challenged Elfreda.
"I will some fine day," promised Grace. "She's in Italy now."
"You mean the girl you speak of as Eleanor?" asked Elfreda curiously.
Grace nodded. "She is one of my dearest friends and belongs to oursorority at home. At one time she was my bitterest enemy," she continuedreminiscently. "She was so self-willed and domineering that none of uscould endure her. She entered the junior class in high school whenMiriam, Anne and I did. For a year and a half she made life miserablefor all of us, then something happened and she turned out gloriously.I'll tell you all about it some other time."
"Was she worse than the Anarchist?" asked Elfreda sceptically.
"There is no comparison," replied Grace promptly. "Still, the Anarchistmay have possibilities of which we know nothing."
"I wish she would give a demonstration of them to-night then," mutteredElfreda. "I suppose I'll have to get busy and look her up. It isdangerous to leave her to her own devices. She may have offended halfthe company by this time." Elfreda strolled off in search of hertroublesome charge. Grace crossed the gymnasium, her keen eyes dartingfrom the floor, where groups of daintily gowned girls stood exchanginggay badinage, and resting after the last waltz, to the chairs and divansplaced at intervals against the walls that were for the most partunoccupied.
Everyone seemed to be dancing. Grace remembered with a start that shehad seen nothing of Ruth Denton. She had waved to Arline across the roomon entering the gymnasium, and had not caught a glimpse of her since. "Imust find Ruth," she reflected, "and tell her about to-morrow. PerhapsAnne has told her. She promised she would." Espying Mildred Taylor,Grace remembered with sudden contrition that she had not asked thelittle freshman to dance. "I suppose she hasn't a single dance left,"murmured Grace regretfully. "At any rate, I'll ask her now." ApproachingMildred she said in her frank, straightforward fashion, "I'm so sorry Ioverlooked you, Miss Taylor. I intended asking you to dance first ofall."
The "cute" little freshman turned her head away from Grace's apologeticgray eyes. "It doesn't matter," she answered in a queer, strained voice."My card was full long ago."
"I hope you are not hurt or offended at my seeming neglect," insistedGrace anxiously.
"Not in the least," was the almost curt rejoinder. "I do not think Ishall stay much longer. I have a headache."
"I'm so sorry," said Grace sympathetically. "Can I do anything for you?"
Mildred Taylor did not answer. Her lip quivered and her eyes filled withtears. She brushed them angrily away, saying with a petulance entirelyforeign to her, "Please don't trouble yourself about me."
"Very well," replied Grace, in proud surprise. "Shall I tell MissPierson that you are ill?"
"No," muttered Mildred.
Grace walked away, puzzled and self-accusing. "I hurt her feelings bynot asking her to dance," was the thought that sprang instantly to hermind. Then she suddenly recollected that she had not yet found Ruth. Alittle later she discovered her in earnest conversation with GertrudeWells at the extreme end of the room.
"Dance this with me, Ruth," called Grace, as she neared her friend. Ruthglanced at her card. "I have this one free," she said. A moment laterthey were gliding over the smooth floor to the inspiriting strains of apopular two step. Long before
the end of the dance they stopped to restand talk. "I suppose we ought to devote ourselves strictly to thefreshmen," said Grace. "They all appear to be dancing, though. Wherehave you been keeping yourself, Ruth?"
"I've been busy," replied Ruth evasively.
"Will you be too busy to have dinner with us at Vinton's to-morrownight?" persisted Grace.
"No-o-o," said Ruth slowly. "At what time?"
"Half-past six," returned Grace. "We'll meet you there. I must leave younow to look after Miss Evans. I brought her here to-night."
It was late when the notes of the last waltz sounded, and still laterwhen the gay participants left the gymnasium in twos, threes and littlecrowds trooping down the broad stone steps to where they were to taketheir carriages. The rain was now falling heavily, and to walk evenacross the campus was out of the question. Every public automobile andcarriage in Overton had been pressed into service, and many who hadbraved the fine rain early in the evening and walked were obliged tonegotiate with the drivers for a return of their vehicles. The carriagesto Wayne Hall carried six girls instead of four, and the merryconversation that was kept up during the short drive showed plainly thatthe evening had been a success. Even the Anarchist indulged in anoccasional stiff remark with a view toward being gracious. When Elfredahumorously bowed her to her door and wished her an elaborate good night,an actual gleam of fun appeared in her stormy eyes, and forgetting herdignity she replied almost cordially that she had enjoyed her evening.
"I am surprised to think she did after the way she made remarks aboutpeople," commented Elfreda to Miriam, who was busily engaged inunhooking the stout girl's gown and listening in amusement to Elfreda'srecital. "She has as much tact as a guinea hen. You know how tactfulthey are?"
In the meantime Anne and Grace were discussing the night's festivity intheir own room. Grace had slipped into a kimono and stood brushing herlong hair before the mirror. Suddenly she paused, her brush suspended inthe air. "Anne," she said so abruptly that Anne looked at her insurprise, "did you notice anything peculiar about Miss Taylor? You wereher escort, you know."
"No," responded Anne, knitting her brows in an effort to remember. "Ican't say that I noticed anything."
"Then I am right," decided Grace. "She is angry with me because in someway I missed asking her to dance."
"She said nothing to me," was Anne's quick reply.
"She is offended, I know she is," said Grace. "I'm sorry, of course. Ididn't pass her by intentionally. I didn't know she was so sensitive. Ithink I'll ask her to go to Vinton's for luncheon on Saturday."
But when Grace delivered her invitation at the breakfast table the nextmorning it was curtly refused. Mildred Taylor's attitude, if anything,was a shade more hostile than it had been the night before. From hermanner, it was evident that the little freshman, whom Grace had hastenedto befriend on that first doleful morning when she found her roomlessand in tears on the big oak seat in the hall, had quite forgotten allshe owed to the girl she now appeared to be trying to avoid.
Finding her efforts at friendliness repulsed, Grace proudly resolved tomake no more overtures toward the sulking freshman. She had doneeverything in her power to make amends for what had been anunintentional oversight on her part, and her self respect demanded thatshe should allow the matter to drop. She decided that if, later on,Mildred showed a disposition to be friendly, she would meet her halfway, but, until that time came, she would take no notice of her or seekfurther to ascertain the cause of her grievance.