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Overview
CHAPTER I—A PRETENSE OF FRIENDSHIP
“Marjorie! Marjorie Dean!” The black-eyed girl in the runabout
accompanied her high-pitched call by a gradual slowing down of the smart
little car she was driving.
The dainty, white-gowned figure on the sidewalk tilted a white parasol
over one shoulder and turned a pair of startled brown eyes in the
direction of the voice. “Why, Mignon, I didn’t know you were home from
Severn Beach! How do you do?” Advancing to the runabout, Marjorie Dean
stretched forth a white-gloved hand.
“I’ve been in Sanford since Wednesday,” returned Mignon. Leaning out of
the runabout, she lightly clasped the proffered fingers. “Get into my
car and I’ll take you wherever you want to go. I’m glad I saw you. It’s
been deadly dull in Sanford with most of the girls still away.” Her
elfish eyes noting that Marjorie’s smart attire betokened a possible
luncheon or tea, Mignon was consumed with a lively curiosity to learn
the pretty senior’s destination. “You look as though you were going to
an afternoon tea,” she continued artfully. “Say where and I’ll ride you
there.”
“Thank you, but I don’t believe I’ll ride. I was out in the car all
morning with General. It’s so lovely this afternoon I’d rather walk. I’m
not bound for a tea, though. I am going to make a call.”
Mignon’s dark brows drew together in a faint frown. “Oh, pshaw!” she
exclaimed. “Why not ride? Unless you don’t wish me to know where you are
going?” she added suspiciously.
“I never thought of that,” was Marjorie’s honest protest. Yet now that
Mignon had mentioned it, it struck Marjorie rather forcibly that she was
not specially anxious to reveal her destination. “I am going to call on
Miss Archer,” she informed her, making an effort to be casual.
“Then I’ll take you there. I should like to see her, too,” announced
Mignon calmly. She had decided that to call on the principal in
Marjorie’s company would be of great advantage to her. “Come on,” she
urged.
Too well-bred to exhibit pointed reluctance, Marjorie resigned herself
to the inevitable and stepped into the runabout. Her visit to Miss
Archer was of a somewhat personal nature. Still, she reflected, it was
nothing very secret, after all. Should her mission prove successful,
Mignon would, under any circumstances, soon learn the result.
“How do you know Miss Archer will be at home?” inquired Mignon as she
drove slowly down the shady avenue. “I thought she was still in the
West.”
“She came home only yesterday. I telephoned her,” returned Marjorie.
“This call of mine is really more like a business appointment. I would
rather have waited until she had her house fairly opened again, but I
couldn’t very well. It might be too late.”
“Oh!” Mignon was burning to demand further information, but the finality
in Marjorie’s tones warned her to go slowly. Between herself and the
latter there remained always a curious wall of reserve created by their
mental attitude toward each other. Mignon did not believe that
Marjorie’s friendliness toward herself was sincere. On the other hand,
Marjorie sensed the note of unbelief. She felt that Mignon did not trust
her and it made her uncomfortable when in the French girl’s presence.
It was a comparatively short ride to the spacious, old-fashioned house,
set in the midst of giant elms, which the last three generations of
Archers had called home. Of them all Miss Archer and an elder sister
alone remained. The two women had arrived in Sanford from a visit to
Western relatives on the previous day. Even in that short time the big
house had taken on an air of new life. The shuttered windows and
boarded-up doors were now open and a hospitable array of comfortable
wicker and willow chairs on the wide veranda proclaimed that someone was
at home.
“We’ll leave the runabout here,” decreed Mignon, as they brought up
outside the tall iron gate. She alighted from it in her lithe, cat-like
manner, her restless eyes fixed on the house. Quite forgetting that she
was merely a second party to the call, Mignon motioned impatiently for
Marjorie to follow and set off up the walk in her most imposing manner.
Divided between amusement and vexation, Marjorie gave a little sigh and
stepped quickly after the French girl.
“Marjorie! Marjorie Dean!” The black-eyed girl in the runabout
accompanied her high-pitched call by a gradual slowing down of the smart
little car she was driving.
The dainty, white-gowned figure on the sidewalk tilted a white parasol
over one shoulder and turned a pair of startled brown eyes in the
direction of the voice. “Why, Mignon, I didn’t know you were home from
Severn Beach! How do you do?” Advancing to the runabout, Marjorie Dean
stretched forth a white-gloved hand.
“I’ve been in Sanford since Wednesday,” returned Mignon. Leaning out of
the runabout, she lightly clasped the proffered fingers. “Get into my
car and I’ll take you wherever you want to go. I’m glad I saw you. It’s
been deadly dull in Sanford with most of the girls still away.” Her
elfish eyes noting that Marjorie’s smart attire betokened a possible
luncheon or tea, Mignon was consumed with a lively curiosity to learn
the pretty senior’s destination. “You look as though you were going to
an afternoon tea,” she continued artfully. “Say where and I’ll ride you
there.”
“Thank you, but I don’t believe I’ll ride. I was out in the car all
morning with General. It’s so lovely this afternoon I’d rather walk. I’m
not bound for a tea, though. I am going to make a call.”
Mignon’s dark brows drew together in a faint frown. “Oh, pshaw!” she
exclaimed. “Why not ride? Unless you don’t wish me to know where you are
going?” she added suspiciously.
“I never thought of that,” was Marjorie’s honest protest. Yet now that
Mignon had mentioned it, it struck Marjorie rather forcibly that she was
not specially anxious to reveal her destination. “I am going to call on
Miss Archer,” she informed her, making an effort to be casual.
“Then I’ll take you there. I should like to see her, too,” announced
Mignon calmly. She had decided that to call on the principal in
Marjorie’s company would be of great advantage to her. “Come on,” she
urged.
Too well-bred to exhibit pointed reluctance, Marjorie resigned herself
to the inevitable and stepped into the runabout. Her visit to Miss
Archer was of a somewhat personal nature. Still, she reflected, it was
nothing very secret, after all. Should her mission prove successful,
Mignon would, under any circumstances, soon learn the result.
“How do you know Miss Archer will be at home?” inquired Mignon as she
drove slowly down the shady avenue. “I thought she was still in the
West.”
“She came home only yesterday. I telephoned her,” returned Marjorie.
“This call of mine is really more like a business appointment. I would
rather have waited until she had her house fairly opened again, but I
couldn’t very well. It might be too late.”
“Oh!” Mignon was burning to demand further information, but the finality
in Marjorie’s tones warned her to go slowly. Between herself and the
latter there remained always a curious wall of reserve created by their
mental attitude toward each other. Mignon did not believe that
Marjorie’s friendliness toward herself was sincere. On the other hand,
Marjorie sensed the note of unbelief. She felt that Mignon did not trust
her and it made her uncomfortable when in the French girl’s presence.
It was a comparatively short ride to the spacious, old-fashioned house,
set in the midst of giant elms, which the last three generations of
Archers had called home. Of them all Miss Archer and an elder sister
alone remained. The two women had arrived in Sanford from a visit to
Western relatives on the previous day. Even in that short time the big
house had taken on an air of new life. The shuttered windows and
boarded-up doors were now open and a hospitable array of comfortable
wicker and willow chairs on the wide veranda proclaimed that someone was
at home.
“We’ll leave the runabout here,” decreed Mignon, as they brought up
outside the tall iron gate. She alighted from it in her lithe, cat-like
manner, her restless eyes fixed on the house. Quite forgetting that she
was merely a second party to the call, Mignon motioned impatiently for
Marjorie to follow and set off up the walk in her most imposing manner.
Divided between amusement and vexation, Marjorie gave a little sigh and
stepped quickly after the French girl.
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940013158085 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | SAP |
| Publication date: | 07/30/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 198 KB |
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