“They’ve been on the way all day,” confessed Marjorie. “We’ve both tried not to cry, but – somehow – ” Her voice faltered. “You see, Jerry, this is Mary’s and my last week together. Mary’s going away off to Colorado next week.”
“You don’t mean it?” Jerry sat up very straight, looking wide-eyed concern. “You never said a thing about it in your letter. I mean letters. I believe you did write me two.” Jerry registered comical accusation.
“Don’t remind me of my sins of omission,” Marjorie laughed, flushing a trifle. “I always mean to write, but somehow I never do. We didn’t know until the week before we came from the seashore that Mary would have to go so soon. We thought it wouldn’t be until November.” Again her tones quavered suspiciously.
“I see.” Jerry frowned to hide her own inclination to mourn. During the brief time they were thrown together, after the reunion of Marjorie and Mary, she had learned to know and love the real Mary Raymond. “I’m more sorry than I can say. I thought we’d all be together for our junior year at Sanford High.”
“Of course, I am anxious to be with mother and father,” put in Mary loyally, “but I hate to leave Sanford. There are lots of things I meant to do this year that I didn’t do last year.”
“But you can’t be in two places at once,” was Jerry’s blunt consolation. “Never mind, Mary, you can come back to visit us and we’ll write you lots of letters. Marjorie is such a splendid correspondent.” Her accompanying jolly chuckle robbed this last pertinent fling of offence. “We’ll write you all the news. That reminds me, I’ve some for you girls. You’ll never guess who stayed at the same hotel with us this summer. I didn’t write about it, because I wanted to have it to tell when I came home.”
Mary cast a sidelong glance at the stout girl. There had been a faint touch of disgust in Jerry’s intonation. “Was it – Mignon?” she asked, half hesitant.
“Right you are. How did you guess it?”
“Oh, I just wondered,” was Mary’s brief response. A tide of red had risen to her white skin, called there by distressing memories.
“Yes, it was our dear Mignon,” continued Jerry briskly. “And she has a friend, Rowena Farnham, who likewise stayed at our hotel. Believe me, they were a well-matched pair. You see the La Salles usually go to Severn Beach every summer, but they always stay at Cliff House. We always go to the Sea Gull. That’s the whole length of the beach from their hotel. Imagine how pleased I was to see Mignon come parading down to dinner one evening, after we’d been there about two weeks. I was so disgusted that I wanted my father to pack up and move us over to Cliff House. But he wouldn’t, the hard-hearted person.
“That is only part of my tale. The worst now comes trailing along. It’s about this Rowena Farnham. It seems that the Farnhams moved to Sanford last June just after school closed and – ”
“Is this Rowena Farnham a very tall, pretty girl with perfectly gorgeous auburn hair and big black eyes?” broke in Mary abruptly.
“Yes. Where did you ever see her?” demanded Jerry. “Where was I that I didn’t?”
“Oh, I saw her one day in the post-office with Mignon. It was after you had gone away. I thought she must be a guest at the La Salles’.”
“You thought wrong. She lives in that big house with the immense grounds just the other side of the La Salles’ home. It’s the one with that terribly high, ornamental iron fence. I always used to call it the Jail. It made me think of one. But that’s not my news, either. This new girl is going to be a sophomore at Sanford High. I’m sorry for poor old Sanford High.”
“Why?” A curious note of alarm sprang into Marjorie’s question. After two stormy years at high school, she longed for uneventful peace. Jerry’s emphatic grumble came like a far-off roll of thunder, prophesying storm.
“Why?” Jerry warmed to her subject. “Because she is a terror. I can see it in her eye. Just now she and Mignon are as chummy as can be. If they stay chummy, look out for trouble. If they don’t, look out for more trouble.”
“Perhaps you may find this new girl quite different,” suggested Mary hopefully. “It’s not fair to judge her by Mignon. Very likely she hasn’t any idea that – that – ” She was thinking of how completely she had once fallen under Mignon’s spell.
“That Mignon is Mignon, you mean,” interrupted Jerry. “She ought to know her after being with her all summer. I’ll bet she does. That’s just why I think she’s a trouble-maker. They always hang together, you know.”
Marjorie slipped from the swing and faced her friends with the air of one who has suddenly arrived at a definite conclusion. For a moment she stood regarding Jerry in silence, hands clasped behind her back.
“There’s just one thing about it, Jerry,” she began firmly, “and that is: I will not have my junior year spoiled by Mignon La Salle or her friends. Last year we tried to help Mignon and our plan didn’t work. I thought once that she had a better self, but now it would take a good deal to make me believe it. She caused me a great deal of unnecessary unhappiness and she almost made Constance lose her part in the operetta. And little Charlie! I can’t forgive her for the way she treated that baby. This year I am going to go on with my school just as though I had never known her. I hope I won’t have to play on the same basket ball team with her or against any team that she plays on. I’ve had enough of Mignon La Salle. I’m going to steer clear of her.”
CHAPTER II – ALL IN HONOR OF MARY
“Be sure not to pack your white lace dress, Lieutenant.” Marjorie delivered this reminder from the open doorway of the pretty blue room which Mary had so long regarded as her own special nook.
From a kneeling position before her trunk Mary Raymond turned her head, her eyes two mournful blue stars. “It’s over there,” she returned, nodding somberly toward the bed. “Everything else that had to be packed is packed. I can put my dress in the last thing to-night. I’m so glad Connie is home in time to see me off on my journey. I hope she and Charlie will come over early this afternoon.”
“They will.” The blithe assurance held a significance which Mary did not catch. The shadow of the coming separation now hung more heavily upon her. Marjorie’s cheery reply caused her to wonder vaguely if her chum would really miss her so very much. The next instant she put the thought away from her as unworthy. Of course Marjorie would miss her. Still she could scarcely be blamed if she did not. In spite of the long, happy summer they had spent together, occasionally the past rose to torture Mary.
Packing her effects had been a severe trial. Everything she touched called forth memories. There was the blue linen frock she had worn on the morning of her first entrance into Sanford High School. The very sight of it filled her with remorse. And the dress she had worn on Christmas Day, when the merciful Flag of Truce had bade a halt to the hostilities which her own unreasonable jealousy had created. More than one tear had fallen on the various dainty articles of wearing apparel as she consigned them to her trunk. She wished above all to be brave and cheerful, even to the very moment of farewell, but she found it hard to fight back the terrible feeling of oppression that clutched at her heart.
From her position in the doorway, Marjorie had watched Mary for a moment or two before speaking. She had guessed that the work of packing would be something of a dolorous labor, which Mary might prefer to perform alone. At heart she, too, was sad, but in her mind lurked a pleasant knowledge which for the present Mary did not share. It was this particular bit of knowledge that made it difficult for her to keep a sober face as she met Mary’s doleful gaze.
“I’m going to wear white, too,” she said brightly. “Captain finished my new lingerie frock yesterday. As long as you’re through packing, why not get dressed for dinner now? I’m going to, even if it is only three o’clock. Then when Connie and Charlie come we can take a stroll down to Sargent’s. That is, if we care to.” Again her lovely face threatened to break forth into the smiles.
“All right.”