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Marjorie Dean at Hamilton Arms
Marjorie Dean at Hamilton Arms
CHAPTER I
WAITING FOR MARJORIE
“They’ll be here before long.” Jerry Macy’s eyes calculatingly consulted the wall clock.
“And, oh, what a surprise!” Veronica Lynne spoke from the deeps of her own mischievous enjoyment.
“It’s going to be an occasion of surprises,” predicted Lucy Warner with the solemnity of a young owl. “Now why are you laughing, Muriel?” This very severely as she caught sight of Muriel Harding’s mirthful face and heard sound of her soft chuckle.
“Why am I laughing? You know better, Luciferous Warniferous, than ask me such a – well – such a leading question.” Muriel failed to make her laughing features match her reproving tones.
“You’re both up to mischief. Think I don’t know the signs?” Jerry accused with a long-suffering air. “Luciferous looks too solemn to be true and your special variety of giggle is a dead give-away.”
“What special variety?” demanded Muriel with blank innocence.
“I wouldn’t attempt to classify it,” was Jerry’s withering retort. “I can only say, ‘it is.’”
“Of course it is.” Muriel light-heartedly furnished a rippling little sample. “Hark!” she held up an arresting hand. “Someone’s coming.”
Three energetic raps on the door followed her announcement. Then the door opened sufficiently to admit the laughing face of Leila Harper.
“Enter the Empress of Wayland Hall,” Leila heralded. She flung the door wide and bowed in Miss Remson. She and Vera Mason followed the little manager. Dressed in her best black satin gown, Miss Remson appeared signally amused at the honors done her. Leila was wearing an exquisite frock of orchid broadcloth. Vera, doll-like and dainty, looked like a cunning Dresden figure in a frock of gentian blue taffeta, the faint blue field scattered thickly with tiny pink rosebuds. Their light-hued dresses pointed to a celebration, as did those of the other girls gathered in ever-hospitable Room 15.