Kitabı oku: «Marjorie Dean, High School Junior», sayfa 10
CHAPTER XX – CONSTANCE POINTS THE WAY
“This is a nice state of affairs,” scolded Jerry Macy. “What do you suppose has happened, Marjorie?” Overtaking her friend in the corridor on the way from recitation, Jerry’s loud question cut the air like a verbal bomb-shell. Without waiting for a reply she continued in a slightly lower key. “Harriet has tonsilitis. Isn’t that the worst you ever heard? And only three days before the operetta, too. We can’t give it until she gets well, unless somebody in the chorus can sing her rôle. I’m going to telephone Laurie after my next class is over and tell him about it. The chorus is our only hope. Some one of the girls may know the part fairly well. They all ought to after so much rehearsing last Spring. Most of them can’t do solo work, though. Do you think you could sing it?” Jerry had drawn Marjorie to one side of the corridor as she rapidly related her bad news.
“Mercy, no!” Marjorie registered dismay at the mere suggestion. “I wouldn’t dream of attempting it. Isn’t it too bad that Harriet hasn’t an understudy? I’m ever so sorry she’s sick. How dreadfully disappointed she must be.”
“Not any more so than half of Sanford will be when they hear the operetta’s been postponed. Every reserved seat ticket’s been sold. Who’d have thought that Harriet would go and get tonsilitis?” mourned Jerry. “There’s a regular epidemic of it in Sanford. You know Nellie Simmons had it when the sophs wanted that basket ball game postponed. Quite a number of Sanford High girls have had it, too. Be careful you don’t get it.”
Marjorie laughed. “Oh, I won’t. Don’t worry. I’m never sick. We’ll have to go, Jerry. There’s the last bell.”
“You had better touch wood.” Jerry hurled this warning advice over one plump shoulder as she moved off.
It brought a smile to Marjorie’s lips. She was not in the least superstitious. She grew grave with the thought that the operetta would have to be postponed. At the first performance of the “Rebellious Princess,” Harriet had sung her part at a moment’s notice. Until then she had been Mignon La Salle’s understudy. Struck by a sudden thought Marjorie stopped short. Jerry had evidently forgotten that Mignon knew the rôle. Still, it would do no good to remind her of it, or Laurie either. She believed that Jerry, at least, would infinitely prefer that the operetta should never be given rather than allow Mignon to sing in it. The mere mention of it was likely to make her cross. Marjorie decided to keep her own counsel. She had no reason to wish to see Mignon thus honored, particularly after her treacherous attempt to do Constance out of her part. Then, too, there was the new grievance of the Observer against her.
By the time school was over for the day, Constance had already been acquainted with the dire news. Apart from her two chums, Jerry had told no one else except Hal and Laurie. When the three girls emerged from the school building, accompanied by Susan, Muriel and Irma, they saw the two young men waiting for them across the street. The latter three faithful satellites immediately took themselves off with much giggling advice to Jerry that four was a company, but five a crowd. Jerry merely grinned amiably and refused to join them. She knew her own business.
“This is too bad, Jerry,” were Laurie’s first words. “What are we to do?”
“That’s for you to say,” shrugged Jerry. “All I can think of to do is have a try-out of the chorus. If none of them can sing Harriet’s part, we’ll have to call it off. I mean postpone it.” Jerry cast a sly glance at Hal to see if he had noticed her polite amendment.
“What have you to say, Constance and Marjorie?” queried Laurie. “But the street is not the place for a consultation. Suppose we go down to Sargent’s to talk it over. I spoke to Professor Harmon this afternoon, but he said he’d rather leave it to me. He’s busy just now with that new boy choir at the Episcopal Church. He wants me to direct the operetta.”
Voicing approval of this last, the three girls allowed their willing cavaliers to steer them toward Sargent’s hospitable doors. Hal, Marjorie and Jerry took the lead, leaving Constance and Laurie to follow. Nothing further relating to the problem that had risen was said until the five were seated at a rear table in the confectioner’s smart little shop. Then Laurie abruptly took it up. “We are ready for suggestions,” he invited.
“I have one.” There was a peculiar note of uncertainty in Constance’s voice as she spoke. “You are not going to be pleased with it, but it seems to me the only thing to do.” More boldly she added: “Let Mignon La Salle sing the part.”
“Never!” burst from Laurie and Jerry simultaneously.
The appearance of a white-coated youth to take their order halted the discussion for a moment. As he hurried away Marjorie’s soft voice was heard: “I thought of that, too, this morning. I had made up my mind not to speak of it. Connie makes me ashamed of myself. Connie is willing for Mignon to sing the part that she cheated herself of. I think we ought to be.”
In silence Laurie stared at her across the table, his brows knitted in a deep frown. Then his gaze rested on Constance. “You girls are queer,” he said slowly. “I don’t understand you at all.”
“I do,” declared Jerry, far from pleased. “I can’t say I agree with them, though. If we ask Mignon to sing the part (I don’t know who’s going to ask her), she will parade around like a peacock. She may say ‘no’ just for spite. She doesn’t speak to any of us.” Then she added in a milder tone, “I suppose her father would dance a hornpipe if we let her sing it. I heard he felt terribly about the way she performed last Spring. You know he put off a business trip just to go to hear her sing, and then she didn’t. She had nobody but herself to blame, though.”
Unwittingly, Jerry had struck a responsive chord in Hal. Leaning forward, he said impulsively, “Then I think I’d ask her, Laurie. Mr. La Salle is a fine man. His office is next to Dad’s. I often go in there and talk to him. He is mighty interesting. He has traveled all over the world and knows how to tell about what he’s seen. He’s all wrapped up in Mignon. You can see that. I wish you’d ask her just on his account. It would pay up for last Spring.”
“Three against two,” grumbled Jerry, “and one of them my own brother. Do we stand our ground, Laurie, or do we not?”
Laurie did not answer immediately. He had not forgiven the French girl her transgression against Constance. The battery of earnest blue and brown eyes bent upon him proved fatal to his animosity. “Our ground seems to be shaky,” he answered. “The majority generally rules.”
“Then you will ask her?” Constance flashed him a radiant smile that quite repaid him for his hinted decision in Mignon’s favor. “It will have to be you. She wouldn’t do it for us.”
Laurie showed lively consternation. “Oh, see here – ” Innate chivalry toward girlhood overtook him. “All right,” he answered. “I’ll ask her.”
In the midst of countless woes, arising from her unwilling allegiance to Rowena Farnham, Mignon next day received the glorious invitation from a most studiedly polite young man. If anyone other than Lawrence Armitage had come to her with the request she would, in all probability, refused pointblank to countenance the idea. Mignon still cherished her school-girl preference for the handsome young musician. She, therefore, assented to the proposal with only the merest show of reluctance. Laurie made it very plain, however, that Constance Stevens desired it. Inwardly, Mignon writhed with anger; outwardly, she was a smiling image of amiability.
Afterward she experienced the deepest satisfaction in boasting to Rowena of the honor which had come to her.
“I think I’ll be in that operetta, too,” had been Rowena’s calm decision. “I’ll go to that Lawrence Armitage and tell him I shall sing in the chorus.” Straightway, she went on this laudable errand, only to be politely but firmly informed that there were no chorus vacancies. Over this she raged to Mignon, then consoled herself and dismayed the French girl by calmly announcing, “I’m going to the theatre with you just the same and watch the silly operetta from behind the scenes. Let me know when you have your rehearsals, for I intend to go to them, too.”
Resorting to craft, Mignon managed to attend the first rehearsal without Rowena. The latter discovered this and pounced upon her on her way home with a torrent of ungentle remarks. Bullied to tears, Mignon was obliged to allow Rowena to accompany her to the second and third rehearsals, the third being the last before the public performance.
Though the cast secretly objected to this, they made no open manifestation of their disgust. It was now fairly well known how matters stood between Rowena and Mignon. The latter had no reason to complain of the universally civil treatment she received. It was merely civil, however, and contained no friendliness of spirit. By the entire cast the French girl was regarded as an evil necessity. For that reason they also reluctantly endured Rowena’s presence. But Rowena derived no pleasure from her intrusion, except the fact that she was a source of covert annoyance to all parties. Her jealous soul was filled with torment at being left out of the production. Shrewd intuition alone warned her not to create even the slightest disturbance. She had determined to go with the cast to Riverview. Consequently, she did not propose cutting off her nose to spite her face.
The knowledge that the proceeds from the operetta were to be devoted to school use, rallied the Sanfordites to the cause. The Sanford performances went off without a hitch before a huge and delighted assemblage. It may be set down to her credit that Mignon La Salle sang the part of the proud step-sister even better than Harriet Delaney had rendered it. Her dramatic ability was considerable and her voice and temperament were eminently suited to her rôle. On this one occasion her long-suffering parent was not disappointed in his daughter. Natural perspicacity caused him to wonder not a little how it had all come about, and he made a mental note to inquire into it at the first opportunity. Strongly disapproving of the intimacy between Mignon and Rowena Farnham, he was hopeful that this honor done his daughter would throw her again among the finer type of the Sanford girls. From his young friend Hal Macy he had received glowing descriptions of Marjorie and her close friends, and he longed to see Mignon take kindly to them.
Could he have peeped into Mignon’s subtle brain, his dreams would have vanished in thin air. Ever the ingrate, she was thankful to none for the unexpected chance to glitter. At heart she was the same tigerish young person, ready to claw at a moment’s notice. Within her lurked two permanent desires. One of them was to win the interest of Lawrence Armitage; the other to be free of Rowena.
CHAPTER XXI – ROWENA RE-ARRANGES MATTERS
The Sanford performance of “The Rebellious Princess” took place on Friday evening. Late the following afternoon the illustrious cast were conveyed by train or motor to Riverview, the scene of Saturday evening’s operations. Marjorie, Constance, Mr. and Mrs. Dean drove there in the Deans’ motor. Accompanied by Mrs. Macy, Jerry, Susan, Muriel and Irma motored to Riverview together. Hal and Laurie sought temporary freedom from the fair sex in the latter’s roadster. Mr. La Salle had promised, at Mignon’s earnest request, to drive to Riverview with her in her runabout. She had adopted this means of thus temporarily eliminating Rowena. Not daring to thrust herself upon Mignon when bolstered by her father’s protection, Rowena had declared buoyantly that she would be there anyway.
Unfortunately for Mignon, a sudden business emergency sent Mr. La Salle speeding to Buffalo on the Saturday morning train. Before going, however, he instructed his chauffeur to drive Mignon to the train for Riverview and see her safely on it. With others of the cast on the same train, she would be in good company. But the best laid plans often go astray. Ever on the alert for treachery, Rowena saw Mr. La Salle depart and hurrying to the La Salle’s home soon bullied the true state of affairs from his petulant offspring.
“Don’t bother about taking the train,” Rowena counseled arrogantly. “James will drive us over to Riverview in our limousine. He can stay there until the show is over and bring us home.”
“I can’t do that,” parried Mignon. “My father gave orders to William to drive me to the train the cast is to take and put me on it. If I were to go with you, William would tell him.”
“Oh, no, he wouldn’t,” retorted Rowena. “Just let me talk to William.” Without waiting for further excuses from Mignon, the self-willed sophomore dashed out of the house in the direction of the La Salle garage. Mignon followed her, divided between vexation and approbation. She was far from anxious to make the journey to Riverview by train. For once Rowena stood for the lesser of two evils.
“Come here, William,” called Rowena, pausing outside the open garage door and imperiously beckoning the chauffeur who was engaged in putting a fresh tire on Mignon’s runabout.
“What is it, Miss?” asked the man, as he frowningly approached Rowena.
“You needn’t take Miss La Salle to the train this afternoon. She’s going with me. She has so much luggage she can’t manage it on the train, so she had to make different arrangements.” Rowena presented a formidably smiling front as she gave her command.
“But Mr. La Salle – ” protested William.
“Don’t be impertinent,” was the freezing interruption. “We know our own business. Miss La Salle’s father will know all about it when he returns. Won’t he?” She turned to Mignon for confirmation.
“It is all right, William,” the latter assured him, purposely neglecting to answer Rowena’s question. “My father will be told when he returns. He forgot about my luggage.”
“All right, Miss Mignon.” William was far too discreet to court the double attack, which he knew would be forthcoming, should he continue to protest. Miss Mignon always did as she pleased, regardless of her father. He made mental note, however, to clear himself the instant his employer returned.
“That was simple enough,” exulted Rowena, as they turned away. “You ought to be glad I fixed everything so nicely for you. I expect some of those snippy girls will be anything but pleased to have me behind the scenes to-night.”
“You’d better keep to my dressing room,” warned Mignon. “On account of it being a different theatre, there is sure to be some confusion. Laurie Armitage won’t like it if you go strolling around among the cast the way you’ve done at rehearsals.”
“You just attend to your own affairs,” blustered Rowena, “and I’ll attend to mine. Who cares what that high and mighty Lawrence Armitage thinks? He’s so wrapped up in that milk-and-water baby of a Constance Stevens he doesn’t know you are alive. Too bad, isn’t it?”
Mignon turned red as a poppy. She began to wish she had not allowed Rowena to alter the arrangements her father had prudently made. Frowning her displeasure at the brutal taunt, she cast a half-longing glance toward the garage. There was still time to inform William that she had changed her mind.
Instantly Rowena marked the glance and divined its import. It did not accord with her plans. If she drove Mignon to reconsider her decision, it meant one of two things. To quarrel openly with her would place beyond reach the possibility of accompanying her to Riverview. If Rowena went there alone she could not hope to be allowed to go behind the scenes. On the other hand she dared not jeopardize her control over Mignon by permitting her to gain even one point.
“Don’t be foolish,” she advised in a more conciliatory tone. “I was only teasing you about that Stevens girl. One of these days this Armitage boy will find out what a silly little thing she is. If you are nice to me, I daresay I can help him to find it out.”
Mignon brightened visibly. From all she had learned of Rowena’s practical methods, she believed her capable of accomplishing wonders in the mischief-making line. “I suppose you mean well,” she said a trifle sullenly. “Still, I don’t think you ought to say such cutting things to me, Rowena.”
Thus once more a temporary truce was declared between these two wayward children of impulse. Though neither trusted the other, sheer love of self admonished them that they could accomplish more by hanging together. Mignon, however, was destined to learn that an unstable prop is no more to be relied upon than no prop at all.
CHAPTER XXII – THE RESULT OF PLAYING WITH FIRE
“See here, Jerry, can’t something be done to keep that Miss Farnham from completely upsetting the cast?” Laurie Armitage’s fine face was dark with disapproval as he halted Jerry, who was hurrying by him toward Constance’s dressing room. “I just heard her telling one of the girls in the chorus that her costume was ‘frightfully unbecoming.’ The poor girl turned red and looked ready to cry. She’s been circulating among the chorus ever since she and Mignon landed in the theatre. Goodness knows what else she has been saying. It won’t do. This isn’t Sanford, you know. We hope to give a perfect performance here. I wish I had told Mignon not to bring her. I hated to do it, though. She might have got wrathy and backed out at the last minute. If ever I compose another operetta, I’ll let somebody else manage it. I’m through,” Laurie concluded in disgust.
“Why don’t you ask Mignon to keep her in the dressing room?” suggested Jerry. “She’s the only one who can manage Row-ena. I doubt if she can.”
“Might as well touch a match to a bundle of firecrackers,” compared Laurie gloomily. “Can’t you think of anything else?”
Jerry studied for a moment. As Laurie’s helper she felt that she ought to measure up to the situation. “It’s almost time for the show to begin,” she said. “The chorus will soon be too busy to bother with her. After the first act, she’ll be in Mignon’s dressing room. Then I’ll slip around among the girls and whisper to them not to mind her. She can’t bother the principals. She doesn’t dare go near Constance or any of the boys like Hal and the Crane.”
“Please do that.” Laurie sighed with relief. “It will help me a great deal.”
Unaware that she had become the victim of a needful strategy, Rowena was serenely deriving huge enjoyment from the brutally frank criticisms she was lavishing right and left among the unoffending choirsters. It was a supreme happiness to her to see her carefully delivered shots strike home. But her ambition to wound lay not entirely with the chorus. She was yearning for a chance to nettle Constance Stevens, whom she hated by reason of the impassable gulf that lay between Constance and herself. Never, since she had come to Sanford, had Constance appeared even to know that she existed. This galled Rowena beyond expression. As a leader among the high school girls she had deemed Constance worth cultivating. She might as readily have tried to bring down the North Star as to ingratiate herself with this calm, lovely girl, and she knew it. Here was something which she could not obtain. Failing, she marked her as a victim for ridicule and scorn.
The first act over at last, Rowena posted herself in Mignon’s dressing room and proceeded to regale the latter with a derisive, laughing account of her fruitful wanderings among the cast. Mignon listened to her with indifference. As she opened the second act, her mind was on her rôle. She was hardly aware that her tormentor had left the dressing room until she became conscious that the high-pitched tones had suddenly ceased.
Mignon proving altogether too non-committal to suit her difficult fancy, Rowena had fared forth in search of fresh adventure. The star dressing room, occupied by Constance, lay two doors farther down the corridor. In passing and repassing it that evening, Rowena had vainly ransacked her guileful brain for an excuse to invade it. Now as she left Mignon’s dressing room she decided to put on an intrepid front and pay Constance a call. Her large, black eyes danced with pure malice as she doubled a fist and pounded upon the closed door.
“Who is there?” came from within. The vigorous tattoo had startled Constance.
For answer Rowena simply swung open the door and stepped into the room. “I thought I’d pay you a call,” she announced with cool complacence.
Seated before a low make-up shelf on which reposed a mirror, Constance was engaged in readjusting her coiffure, which had become slightly loosened during the first act. Her blue eyes showed wondering surprise as she turned in her chair to face the intruder. From Jerry she had already heard angry protests against this mischievous girl. Quiet Constance now read fresh mischief in the intrusion. She resolved to treat her uninvited guest civilly. If possible she would try to keep her in the dressing room until the second act was called. Better that than allow her to further annoy the other girls. As she had no change of costume to make she was free to entertain her unbidden visitor.
“Sit down,” she evenly invited, neither cordial nor cold. “How do you like the operetta?”
Rather taken aback by this placid reception, Rowena dropped gracefully into a chair, her dark eyes fixed speculatively on her hostess. Shrugging her shoulders she gave a contemptuous little laugh as she answered: “Oh, these amateur productions are all alike. Some, of course, are more stupid than others.”
“Do you include the poor Princess among the more stupid?” asked Constance, smiling in spite of herself at this patent attempt to be disagreeable.
“I don’t include it in anything. I don’t even know what it’s all about. I only came to rehearsals and here to amuse myself. Sanford is the deadest town I was ever in and Sanford High School is a regular kindergarten. I suppose you know who I am, don’t you?” Rowena crested her auburn head a trifle.
“Yes. You are Miss Farnham.” Constance made reply in an enigmatic tone.
A threatening sparkle leaped to the other’s eyes. She was beginning to resent Constance’s quiet attitude. “If you knew who I was, why didn’t you speak to me at the first rehearsal?” she sharply launched.
“I merely knew you by sight. There are many girls in Sanford High whom I do not know personally.”
“But I’m different,” pursued Rowena. “My father is very rich and I can have whatever I like. You must know that. You ought to associate with girls of your own class. Your aunt has lots of money and can give you social position. That Geraldine Macy is the only rich girl you ever go with. All the others are just middle class. You’re foolish to waste your time on Marjorie – ”
Constance had received Rowena’s first words with secret amusement. As she continued to listen her inward smile changed to outward, rather. At mention of Marjorie her self-imposed placidity flew to the winds. “Kindly leave my dressing room,” she ordered, her voice shaking with indignation. “Marjorie Dean is my dearest friend. No one can belittle her to me. Least of all, you.” Constance had slowly risen, her blue eyes dark with the injury to one she loved.
“I thought that would bring you to life,” laughed Rowena, making no move to rise. As she sat there, the light playing on her ruddy hair, her black eyes agleam with tantalizing mirth, Constance could not but wonder at her tigerish beauty. To quote Muriel, she did resemble “a big, striped tiger.”
Without answering, Constance moved to the door and opened it. She was about to step into the corridor when Rowena sprang forward and clutched her by the arm. “You milk-and-water baby, do you think – ” She did not finish. As Constance stepped over the threshold she came almost into collision with Lawrence Armitage. His keen glance immediately took in the situation. He saw Rowena’s arm drop to her side. Brushing past Constance like a whirlwind, she gained the shelter of Mignon’s dressing room and disappeared.
“Hurry. You’ll miss your cue. I didn’t see you in the wings and came to warn you. Run along. I’ll see you later,” uttered Laurie rapidly. His words sent Constance moving rapidly toward the stairway. His lips tightened as he watched her disappear. For a moment he stood still, then, turning, took the same direction.
“Just a moment, Miss La Salle.” Seeking the stairway at the close of the second act, Mignon was halted by a troubled young man. “I don’t wish to be disagreeable, but – Miss Farnham must either remain in your dressing room during the third act or go out in the audience. I am not blaming you. You’ve sung your part splendidly to-night and I appreciate your effort. Will you help me in this? We don’t wish anything to occur to spoil the rest of the operetta. I am sure you understand.” Appeal looked out from his deeply blue eyes.
“Of course I’ll help you.” Mignon experienced a sudden thrill of triumph. Lawrence Armitage was actually asking her to do him a favor. Valiance rose within her. She quite forgot her dread of Rowena’s bluster. Flashing him her most fascinating smile, she held out her hand in token of good faith. Inwardly she was hoping that Constance might happen along to witness the tableau. Laurie clasped it lightly. He was not in the least impressed. “Thank you.” He wheeled abruptly and turned away.
Mignon ran lightly down the stairs and to her dressing room. Inspired by the recent interview, she promptly accosted the ubiquitous Rowena, as she lounged lazily in a chair. “You mustn’t go out of the dressing room or upstairs again until the operetta is over,” she dictated. “Laurie doesn’t want you to. He just spoke to me about it. He has allowed you a lot of liberty already, so I think you’d better do as he says. It won’t be long now until – ”
“So Laurie thinks he can order me about, does he?” Rowena sprang to her feet in a rage. “That for Laurie!” She snapped contemptuous fingers. “This is your work. You’ve been talking about me to him. But you’ll be sorry. I know a way – ”
Her mood swiftly changing she threw back her head and laughed. Resuming her chair she sat silently eyeing Mignon with a mirthful malevolence that sent a shiver of apprehension up and down the French girl’s spine. Rowena had undoubtedly been inspired with an idea that boded no good to her. As she dressed for the third act she cast more than one nervous glance at the smiling figure of insolence in the chair.
Not a word further had been exchanged between the two when the third act was called. Mignon half expected to see Rowena rise and follow her up the stairs, there to create a scene with Laurie that would delay the rise of the curtain. Nothing of the kind occurred, however, and the last act began and went on to a triumphant end.
After the curtain had been rung down on the final tableau, she made a dash for the stairs to encounter Rowena ascending them. She had already donned her evening cape and scarf. At sight of Mignon she called out in the careless, good-humored fashion she could assume at will: “Hurry up. I’m going on out to the limousine. I need a breath of fresh air.”
Partially convinced that Rowena had recovered from her fit of temper, Mignon gladly hastened to do her bidding. It was not until she began to look about for her high-laced boots that she changed her mind concerning her companion. They were nowhere to be seen. “Rowena has hidden them, just to be aggravating!” she exclaimed angrily. “That was her revenge. But I’ll find them.”
After a frantic ten-minutes’ search she managed to locate them, tucked into either sleeve of the long fur coat she had worn. Thankful to find them, she laced them in a hurry and proceeded to dress with all speed. A repeated receding of footsteps and gay voices from the direction of the stairway warned her that the dressing rooms were being rapidly deserted. Those who had come to Riverview by railway had only a short time after the performance in which to catch the last train for the night.
Taking the stairs, two at a time, Mignon made a rush for the stage door and on out into the cold, starlit night. The first thing she noted was a large part of the cast hurriedly boarding a street car for the station. But where was the Farnham limousine and Rowena? Where was the little line of automobiles she had seen parked along the street when she entered the theatre? Only one now remained, almost a block farther up the street. Her heart beat thankfully as she observed it. It looked like the Farnham limousine. It was just like Rowena to thus draw away a little distance in order to scare her into thinking she had been left behind.
Racing toward it she saw that the chauffeur was engaged in examining one of its tires. She heard a cheery voice call out, “All right, Captain,” and her knees grew weak. The voice did not sound like that of James, the Farnhams’ chauffeur. Hoping against hope she came abreast of it. Then her elfin eyes grew wide with despair. It was not the Farnhams’ car. It belonged to none other than the Deans.
Heartsick, she was about to turn away when a fresh young voice called out, “Mignon La Salle!” Forgetting everything except that she was in difficulties, she halted and managed to articulate, “Have you seen Miss Farnham’s car?”
“Why, no,” came the wondering reply. “Have you missed her?”
“I saw her go by in a limousine,” stated Constance Stevens, from the tonneau of the Deans’ car. “She was driving and the chauffeur was sitting beside her.”
A belated light now dawned upon Mignon. She understood that this was the fruition of Rowena’s threat. She had purposely run off and left her, knowing that she could not hope to catch the last train.
In the dark of the tonneau, Constance gave Marjorie’s hand a quick pressure. Its instant return signified that her chum understood. Without hesitation she called to the tragic little figure on the sidewalk, “We’ll take you home, Mignon. It’s lucky that General stopped to examine that tire.” Then to her father, “This is Mignon La Salle, Father. You know her, Mother.”
