It was impossible for Judy’s friends not to make an amiable unspoken guess as to why she had visited the Beta Phi circle. It had been evident for some time that she was working to get into the “Shakespeareans,” the most exclusive dramatic club in college. There was an awkward silence as this thought flashed through their minds. Molly felt embarrassed for her chum. After all, she was no worse than Margaret Wakefield, who had managed to get herself elected three years in succession as president of her class.
“What was the other extinguisher Miss Higgins had, Judy?” asked Molly.
“Oh, yes. That was even worse. It came from your particular friend, Professor Green. She interrupted him in the middle of a lecture with one of those unnecessary questions new girls ask to show how much they know. And then she said something about methods at Mill Town High School.”
“Really?” chorused the voices. “And what did he say?”
“He looked very much bored and replied that they were not interested in Mill Town High School, and he would be obliged if she would pay attention to the lecture. It was a public rebuke, nothing more nor less.”
“The mean thing,” exclaimed Molly.
“Now, Molly,” interposed Margaret, “you know very well that girls of that type ought to be taken down. They are never tolerated at college. A conceited boy at college is always thoroughly hazed until there’s not a drop of conceit left, and it does him good. And since we can’t haze, we simply have to extinguish a fresh freshie. Miss Higgins may develop into a very nice girl in a year or two, but at present she’s the veriest little upstart – ”
“Do be careful,” said Molly cautiously. “I’ve invited her this afternoon to drink tea – ”
“Molly Brown,” they cried, pummeling her with sofa cushions and beating her with her own slippers.
“Really, Molly, you must restrain your inviting habits,” said Judy.
“I’m sorry,” apologized poor Molly.
“Why did you do it, pray? You know perfectly well no one here wants her.”
“I know it, but I was sorry for her. She seemed so brash and lonesome at the same time. I thought it might help her some to mingle with a few fine, intelligent, well-bred girls like you – ”
“Here, here! Don’t try to get out of it that way.”
“She appears to be very learned,” continued Molly, turning her blue eyes innocently from one to the other. “I thought it would be nice to pit her against Margaret and Edith. She discusses deep subjects and uses big words I can only dimly guess the meaning of – ” There was a tap at the door. “Now, be nice, please.”
“Come in,” called Nance, in a tone of authority, and Minerva Higgins appeared in their midst.
She had done honor to the occasion by putting on a taffeta silk of indigo blue, and by pinning on some of her most conspicuous gold medals acquired at intervals during her early education.
Judy shook her head over the indigo blue.
“Only certain minds could wear it,” she thought.
Molly rose, but before she could frame a cordial greeting, the new guest was saying:
“How do you do, Molly? Awfully nice of you to ask me. You don’t mind my calling you by your first name, do you? My name is Minerva but the girls at Mill Town High School called me ‘Minnie.’ I hope you’ll do the same.”
“I shall be glad to,” answered Molly, rather taken back by this sudden intimacy.
After she had performed all necessary introductions, wicked Katherine Williams remarked:
“Minnie is a very charming name, but I insist on calling you ‘Minerva’ after the Goddess of Wisdom. She never wore gold medals, but then it wasn’t the fashion among the early Greeks.”
Minerva’s face was the picture of complacency.
“In Greece she would have been ‘Athene,’” she observed.
There was a loud clearing of throats and Judy, as usual, was seized with a violent fit of coughing.
“Sit down here, Miss Higgins – I mean Minnie,” said Molly hastily. “The tea will be ready in a minute.”
“You have been to college before, Minerva?” asked Edith Williams solemnly.
Minerva looked somewhat surprised.
“Oh, no. Not college. I am just out of High School. Mill Town High School is a very wonderful educational institution, you know. Perhaps you have heard of it. A diploma from there will admit a girl into any of the best colleges in the country. I could have gone to a private school. My father is professor of Greek at the Academy in Mill Town, but I preferred to take advantage of the high standards of the High School, which are even higher than those of the Academy.”
“I suppose your father’s taste in Greek caused him to name you Minerva,” observed Judy.
“But Minerva isn’t Greek, Julia,” admonished Katherine.
Again Molly interceded. It was cruel to make fun of the poor girl, although there was no denying that Minerva had a high opinion of herself.
“Have a sandwich,” she said soothingly.
There was a long interval of silence while Minerva crunched her sandwich.
“Your life at Mill Town High School must have been one grand triumphal progress, judging from your medals, Miss Higgins,” said Edith Williams finally.
Minerva glanced proudly down at the awards of merit.
“There are a good many of them,” she observed, with a smile that was almost more than they could stand. “And there are more of them still. I’ve won one or two medals each year ever since I started to school. But I don’t like to wear them all at once.”
“That’s very modest of you.”
“Are you going to specialize on any subjects, Miss Higgins?” asked Margaret Wakefield, really meaning to be kind and lead the girl away from topics which made her appear ridiculous.
“Biology, I think. But I am interested in Comparative Philology, too, and after I skim through a little Greek and Latin, I intend to take up some of the ancient languages, Sanskrit and Hebrew.”
Was it possible that Minerva was making game of them? They regarded her suspiciously, but she seemed sublimely unconscious.
“Why not study also the ancient tongue of the Basques?” asked Edith, quite gravely.
“That would be interesting,” replied Minerva, “but I want to get through this little college course first.”
Molly batted her heavenly eyes and suddenly burst out laughing.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be rude, but the course at Wellington doesn’t seem so small to us. We have to study all the time and then just barely pull through. I’ve almost flunked twice in mathematics. I wish I could call it a little course.”
“Ah, well, we are not all Minervas,” observed Margaret. “Some of us are just ordinary school girls learning the rudiments of education. We have not had the advantages of Mill Town High School, and if any of us have won gold medals we never show them.”
This measured rebuff, however, had no more effect on Minerva’s impervious vanity than a cup of water dashed against a granite boulder. She was already up, wandering about the room, boldly examining the girls’ belongings, ostentatiously reading the titles of books aloud.
“Plays by Molière. Oh, yes, I read them in the original two years ago. They’re easy. ‘Green’s Short History of the English People,’ very interesting book. ‘The Broad Highway.’ I never read fiction. Only biography and history – ”
Edith Williams, stretched at her ease