CHAPTER XXII
PLANNING FOR THE MASQUERADE
On the morning following Mignon's visit to Miss Archer's office,Marjorie was unpleasantly startled to hear Miss Merton call outstridently just after opening exercises, "Miss Dean, report to MissArcher, at once."
A battery of curious eyes was turned in speculation upon Marjorie as shewalked the length of the study hall, outwardly composed, but inwardlyresentful at Miss Merton's tone, which, to her sensitive ears, borderedon insult.
"Good morning, Miss Archer; Miss Merton said you wished to see me,"began Marjorie, quietly, as she entered the outer office where MissArcher stood, reading a letter which her secretary had just handed toher for inspection.
"Yes," returned the principal, briefly; "come with me." She led the wayto her inner office and, motioning to Marjorie to precede her, steppedinside and closed the door.
"Sit here, Miss Dean," she directed, indicating a chair at one side ofher desk. Then, seating herself, she turned to the young girl, and said,with kind gravity: "I sent for you this morning because I wish to speakfrankly to you of one of your classmates. I shall expect you to beabsolutely frank, too. Very grave complaints have been brought to me byMiss La Salle concerning Constance Stevens. She insists that MissStevens is guilty of the theft of her bracelet, which disappeared on thenight of the dance given by the young men of Weston High School. As Ileft the gymnasium some time before the party was over, I knew nothingof this, and no word of it was brought to me afterward.
"Miss La Salle also states that Miss Stevens has been wearing a goldpin, in the form of a butterfly, which belongs to you and which youadvertised as lost. She declares that she is positive that Miss Stevensfound the pin and made no effort to return it to you, and that you areshielding her from the effects of her own wrongdoing by allowing her tocontinue to wear it. This latter seems to be a rather far-fetchedaccusation, but Miss La Salle is so insistent in the matter that I wasgoing to settle that part of it, at least, by asking you where and whenyou found your pin and whether you gave Miss Stevens permission to wearit.
"This may seem to you, my dear, like direct interference in yourpersonal affairs, but it is necessary that this matter be cleared up atonce. Miss Stevens cannot afford to allow such detrimental reports tobe circulated about her through the school."
Miss Archer looked expectantly at Marjorie, who was strangely silent,two signals of distress in her brown eyes.
"I cannot answer your questions, Miss Archer," she answered at last, herclear tones a trifle unsteady.
The principal regarded her with amazed displeasure. Accustomed to havingthe deciding voice in all matters pertaining to her position as head ofthe school, she could not endure being crossed, particularly by a pupil.
"I must insist upon an answer, Miss Dean. Your silence is unfair, notonly to Miss Stevens, but to the school. If Miss Stevens is innocent ofany wrongdoing, now is the time to clear her name of suspicion. If sheis guilty, by telling the true circumstances concerning your pin, youare doing the school justice. A person who deliberately appropriatesthat which does not belong to him or to her is a menace to the communityin which he or she lives, and should be removed from it. Our school isour community. It must be kept free from those who are a detriment toit," concluded Miss Archer, her mouth settling into lines of obstinatefirmness.
The distress in Marjorie's face deepened. "I am sorry, Miss Archer, butI can tell you nothing. Please don't think me stubborn and obstinate. Ican't help it. I--I have nothing to say."
"I have explained to you the necessity for perfect frankness on yourpart, and you have refused to comply with my demand," reproved theprincipal. "I am deeply disappointed in you, Miss Dean. I looked forbetter things from you. The affair will have to stand as it is untilMiss Stevens returns. I am sorry that you will not assist me in clearingit up." She made a gesture of dismissal. "That is all, I believe, thismorning. You may return to the study hall."
Without a word Marjorie rose and left the room, her eyes full of tears,her proud spirit hurt to the quick. The icy reproach in the principal'swords was, indeed, hard to bear, and all for a girl who had provedherself unworthy of friendship. Yet she could not help feeling a swiftpang of pity for Constance. How dreadful it would be for her when shereturned to Sanford and to school!
But Constance seemed in no hurry to return. Midyear, with its burden ofexaminations, its feverish hopes and fears, came and went. Then followeda three days' vacation, and the new term began with a great readjustingof programs and classes. Marjorie passed her state examinations inAmerican history and physiology, and decided upon physical geography andEnglish history in their places, as both were term studies. She enteredupon her second term's work with little enthusiasm, however. Thedisagreeable, almost tragic events following the holidays had left ashadow on her freshman days, that had promised so much.
February came, smiled deceitfully, froze vindictively, threatened alittle, then thawed and froze again, as his next-door neighbor, March,whisked resentfully down upon him, hurried him out of the running for awhole year, and blustered about it for two weeks afterward. The swiftlypassing days, however, brought no word or sign concerning the absentConstance, and, try as she might, Marjorie could not forget her.
Mignon La Salle, though greatly disappointed over the failure of herplan to humiliate the musician's daughter, was craftily biding her time,resolved to strike the moment Constance returned to school.
"Mignon certainly intends to make things interesting for Constance,"declared Jerry to Marjorie, as the French girl switched haughtily bythem one mild afternoon in late March on the way home from school.
"Why do you say that?" asked Marjorie, quickly. "Have you heard anythingnew?"
"Nothing startling," replied Jerry. "You know Irma and Susan Atwell usedto be best friends until they began chumming with Mignon and Muriel.Well, Susan is awfully angry with Mignon for something she said abouther, so she has dropped her, and Muriel, too. She went over to Irma'shouse the other night and cried and said she was sorry she'd been sosilly. She wanted to be friends with Irma again."
"What did Irma say?" asked Marjorie, breathlessly.
"Oh, she made up with her, then and there," informed Jerry with finedisgust. "I'd have kept her waiting a while. She deserved it. She toldIrma she hoped I'd forgive her, but I didn't make any rash promises."
"What a hard-hearted person you are," smiled Marjorie. "But, tell me,Jerry, what did you hear about Constance?"
"Oh, yes. That's what I started out to tell you. Mignon told Susan lastweek that she was only waiting for Constance to come back to school totake her to Miss Archer and accuse her of stealing her bracelet."
"How dreadful!" deplored Marjorie. "Perhaps Constance won't come back."
"Yes, she will. She wrote a note to Miss Archer when she went awaysaying that she had to go to New York City on business, but would returnto school as soon as possible. Marcia Arnold saw the note, and toldMignon. Mignon told Susan before they had their fuss. Susan told Irma,and she told me. Almost an endless chain, but not quite," finished Jerrywith a cheerful grin.
"I should say so," returned Marjorie, in an abstracted tone. Herthoughts were on the absent girl. She wondered why Constance had gone toNew York so suddenly and taken little Charlie with her. She wished shehad asked Mr. Stevens more about it.
"See here, Marjorie," Jerry's blunt tones interrupted her musing."What's the trouble between you and Constance? I know something is thematter, but I'd like most awfully well to know what it is."
"I can't answer your question, Jerry," said Marjorie in a low tone."Would you care if I--if we didn't talk about Constance?"
"Not a bit," rejoined the stout girl good-naturedly. "Never tellanything you don't want to tell. We'll change the subject. Let's talkabout the Sanford High dance. What character do you intend torepresent?"
"Is Sanford High going to give a party?" Marjorie voiced her surprise.
"Of course. The Sanford High girls give one every spring, and the Westonboys
give their dance in the fall."
"When is it to be?"
"Not until after Easter, and this year it's going to be a lot of fun. Weare to have a fairy-tale masquerade."
"I never heard of any such thing before."
"Neither did I," went on Jerry, "that is, until yesterday. Thecommittee just decided upon it. You see, the girls always give a fancydress party, but not always a masquerade. This year a freshman who wason the committee proposed that it would be a good stunt to make everyonedress as a character in some old fairy tale. The rest of the committeeliked the idea, so you had better get busy and hunt up your costume."
"But how did you happen to know so much about it?"
"Well," Jerry looked impressive. "I was on the committee and I happenedto be the freshman who proposed it."
"You clever girl!" exclaimed Marjorie, admiringly. "I think that is asplendid idea. I wonder what I could go as?"
"Snow White," suggested Jerry, eyeing her critically. "I can get sevenof the Weston boys to do the Seven Little Dwarfs and follow you around."
"But Snow White had 'a skin like snow, cheeks as red as blood and hairas black as ebony,'" quoted Marjorie. "I don't answer to thatdescription."
"You are pretty, and so was she, and that's all you need to care,"returned Jerry, calmly. "Besides, the Seven Dwarfs will be great. Willyou do it?"
"All right," acquiesced Marjorie. "What are you going as?"
"One of the 'Fat Friars,'" giggled Jerry. "Don't you remember, 'FourFat Friars Fanning a Fainting Fly'? I'm going to ask three more stoutgirls to join me. We'll wear long, gray frocks, get bald-headed wigs andcarry palmleaf fans. I don't know anyone who would be willing to go asthe 'Fainting Fly,' so we'll have to do without him, I guess."
"You funny girl!" laughed Marjorie. "But how will everyone know who iswho after the unmasking? There will be so many queens and princesses andkings and courtiers."
"We thought of that and we are going to put up a notice for everyone tocarry cards. Some of the characters will be easy to guess withoutcards."
"I must tell mother about it as soon as I go home and ask her to help meplan Snow White's costume. When will we receive our invitations?"
"We only send printed invitations to the boys. Every girl in high schoolis invited, of course. The invitations will be sent to the boys nextweek, and the Sanford girls will be notified at once, so as to give themplenty of time to plan their costumes."
"I wish it were to be next week," murmured Marjorie, after she had leftJerry and turned into her own street. "Everything has been gloomy andhorrid for so long. I'd love to have a good time again, just to see howit seemed."
She reflected rather sadly that the disagreeable happenings of herfreshman year had outweighed her good times. She had entered SanfordHigh School with the resolve to like every girl there, and with the hopethat the girls would like her, but in some way everything had gonewrong. Perhaps she had been to blame. She had been warned in thebeginning not to champion Constance Stevens. Yet the very girls who hadwarned her could never have been her intimate friends. Her ideals andtheirs, if they had ideals, were too widely separated. No; she had beenright in standing up for Constance. The fault lay with the latter. Itwas she who had betrayed friendship.
Determined to go no further into this most painful of subjects, Marjorieresolutely centered her thoughts upon the coming party. The moment shereached home she ran upstairs to her room. Sitting down on the floorbefore her bookcase, she drew out a thick red volume of Grimms' FairyTales and read the story of Snow White. To her joy she discovered thatthe colored frontispiece was a picture of Snow White begging admittanceat the home of the Seven Little Dwarfs.
"I'll ask mother to make me a high-waisted white gown like this one,with pale blue trimmings and a big blue sash," she planned. "I'll wearmy pale blue slippers, the ones that have no heels, and white silkstockings. Thank goodness, my hair is curly. I'll let it hang loose onmy shoulders. Of course, it isn't as black as ebony; but then, I can'thelp that." With the book still in her hand she ran down the stairs,two at a time, to tell her mother.
What mother is not interested in her daughter's school fun and parties?Mrs. Dean entered at once into the planning of the costume and suggestedthat Snow White's cards be made in the shape of little apples, one halfcolored red, the other half green, and her name written diagonallyacross the surface of the apple.
Marjorie hailed the idea with delight. "May I buy the water-color paperfor the apples to-morrow, Captain?"
"Yes," replied Mrs. Dean. "You ought to begin them at once. What isConstance going to wear? She hasn't been here for a long time. Poorchild, I suppose her family keep her busy. Why not ask her to dinnersome night this week, Marjorie?"
Marjorie flushed hotly. Her mother, who was busily engaged with anintricate bit of embroidery, did not notice the added color in herdaughter's face.
"Constance is in New York visiting her aunt," returned Marjorie. "Shehas been there for a long time. Charlie is with her. I don't know whenthey will be home."
Something in her daughter's tone caused Mrs. Dean to glance quickly upfrom her work. Marjorie was staring out of the window with unseeingeyes.
"Constance has hurt Marjorie's feelings by not writing to her," wasMrs. Dean's thought. Aloud she said: "Did you know before Constance wentto New York that she intended going?"
"No; she didn't tell me."
Marjorie volunteered no further information, and Mrs. Dean refrainedfrom asking questions. She thought she understood her daughter'sreticence. Marjorie naturally felt that Constance was neglectful and alittle ungrateful, but would not say so.
"I wish I could tell mother all about it," ruminated Marjorie, as shewent slowly upstairs to replace the Grimms'. "I can't bear to do it. Isuppose I shall some day, but it seems too dreadful to say, 'Mother,Constance is a thief. She stole my butterfly pin. That's why she doesn'tcome here any more.' It's like a disagreeable dream, and I wish I couldwake up some day to find that it's all been a dreadful mistake."
But light is sure to follow darkness, and the loyal little lieutenant'sawakening was nearer at hand than she could foresee.
Marjorie Dean, High School Freshman Page 22
