Beatrice Leigh at College Part 25

From a group of alumnae under a cl.u.s.ter of spruces, somebody was walking quickly toward the three. Bea recognized in her a brilliant young instructor at the college.

"Jessica, I am--glad. How do you do?" She put out her hand.

Miss More lifted her eyes, coolly scanned the other woman from the tip of her russet shoes to the crown of her sailor hat, then gazed vacantly over her head, before addressing Robbie again.

"Then to-morrow, Robbie. Don't forget that I wish to see you after the commencement exercises for a few minutes. There are questions I desire to ask. Your mother is well, I hope."

Two minutes later Robbie had reached one of the chairs and dropped into it with a limpness strangely inharmonious with her statuesque proportions. "Bea, they belong to the same cla.s.s."

Bea sank down beside her. "That was awful--awful. Those others were watching her from the path. Why did she do it? I don't understand."

Robbie pa.s.sed her hand across her forehead. "I don't quite remember everything," she said, "but I have an impression that it was Miss Whiton who was to blame for having Miss More expelled. She was cla.s.s president, or something, and felt responsible. Elizabeth said she thought it was for the honor of the college. She meant to do right. And now to think it was all a mistake! Miss More will receive her degrees to-morrow."

"Did Miss Whiton accuse her of any wrong or make complaint?"

"No, not exactly. I think she believed that Miss More's behavior somewhere reflected on the college, and she considered it her duty to report the circ.u.mstances. Or maybe it was appearances--it seems now that it must have been only appearances. That started the trouble, and Miss More resented it. She was stubborn or indifferent about some requirements. I don't remember quite what, and Elizabeth never liked to talk about it. Elizabeth wrote to her every week until she--until she left us." Robbie's lip twitched suddenly. Bea saw it and gently pa.s.sing her arm through the other's arm drew her on to join the cla.s.s a.s.sembled at the amphitheatre.

The next day brought commencement. Bea from her place among the rows of white-clad seniors in the body of the chapel could by bending forward slightly catch a glimpse of Miss More's profile at the head of the front pew at the right. When she raised her eyes she could see Miss Whiton's coldly regular features conspicuous in their clean-cut fairness among the younger instructors in the choir-seats behind the trustees on the platform. Bea had never liked Miss Whiton. It seemed to her now, as she studied the immobile face, that she had always recognized there a suggestion of the self-righteous Pharisee. There could be nothing but misunderstanding and antagonism between the possessor of such a countenance and Miss More with those eyes of hers, that nose and that mouth. Bea's labors over the cla.s.ses in manners had included some research in the subject of physiognomy. Now she leaned forward to secure another view of that profile in the front pew. Then she settled back with the contented sigh of an investigator whose surmise has proved correct.

Miss More's features certainly expressed an impulsive, reckless and lovable temperament as opposed to Miss Whiton's conscientious and calculating prudence. Oh, yes, there was conscience enough in the icily handsome face among the instructors. It was conscience doubtless that had driven her across the campus to speak to Miss More on Cla.s.s Day morning.

Bea sighed again, this time with a faint twinge of sympathy. She generally meant well herself. A conscience was a very queer thing--she thought so still even if she had heard it all explained and a.n.a.lyzed in senior ethics.

"Surgite." That was Prexie's voice. The cla.s.s rose in obedience to the word. Bea found herself standing with the others while the Latin sentences rolled melodiously over their heads. She never could translate from hearing. Absently her glance sought the front pew where Miss More had turned to watch them. The girl's wistful gaze caught the expression of pa.s.sionate regret in her deep-set eyes, and clung there fascinated for an endless moment before tearing itself free.

After it was over, after the cla.s.s had filed upon the platform to receive their diplomas, after Prexie had delivered his annual address and the procession of graduates, alumnae and faculty had marched out into the golden sunshine, Bea drew aside to wait under an elm. Berta spied her and beckoned, then came hurrying.

"Lila is over at the doors on guard to capture the various relatives and start them toward the cottages for dinner. The trustees entertain the alumnae in the main dining-room. The seniors will go to Strong Hall.

Aren't you ready?"

"I'm getting an impression," answered Bea, "gothic portals, graceful elms, bare-headed girls in white, sun-flecked lawns and glimpse of the sparkling lake beyond, groups intermingling----"

"I'll help give you that impression."

Bea slipped nimbly out of reach in time to escape the promised pinch--or it may have been a squeeze.

"I've got it already--a hundred of them. You're in two or three. And Robbie--do you see Robbie anywhere?"

Robbie approached at the moment. "Bea, have you noticed Miss More pa.s.s? I found something last night in my sister's college sc.r.a.pbook--her memory-bill, you know. It is something for Miss More."

"Yes, over there half way to the main building. Look--that one in white all alone. You can overtake her if you hurry, Robbie. Oh, Berta!" Bea turned and held out one hand impulsively. "If you could only have seen her eyes while she watched us in chapel! She was thinking of her own cla.s.s, how she had been driven away from them in disgrace. It was tragic.

She--she----" Bea gulped and caught herself back from falling over the brink into the pit of palpable emotion. "In fact, I am almost sure she--hm-m,--envied us."

She glanced apprehensively at her companion in dread of the usual quick teasing rejoinder; but Berta was soberly gazing after Robbie.

"Robbie has dropped a paper, Bea," she said, "I saw it flutter. Come."

Bea flitted across the gra.s.s, her bright hair an aureole in the sunlight.

Her fingers seized the bit of white; her eyes read the message:

"Sunday evening after Bible lecture.

"Jessica and the rest of us are choosing mottoes to live out just for experiment this week.

"Marian: 'Love seeketh not her own.' (She always gets to places first.)

"Alice: 'Is not easily provoked.' (Oh, oh!)

"Louise: 'Is not puffed up.' (Ah!)

"Jessica: 'is kind.' (And when she is good, she is very, very good.)

Elizabeth: "envieth not." (My brain doesn't suit.)

"Jessica says hers is the easiest because it means just to keep from hating anybody, and she loves the whole college."

"Oh, I didn't mean to read it." Bea almost clapped her hand over her impetuous eyes. "Robbie," she broke into a run, "Robbie Belle, here is something you dropped."

As Robbie turned at the call, one of the trustees, an elderly woman whose white hair seemed to soften the effect of her energetic manner and keen gaze, paused to speak to Miss More. The two seniors strolled on at a leisurely pace while waiting for an opportunity to ask attention without interrupting a speech. The distance intervening lessened step by step till Bea could not help overhearing the trustee's distinct low tones.

"----exceedingly difficult to choose between the two candidates. Their qualifications balance distractingly. Personally I incline to Miss Whiton, and I should very much like to see her win this unusual position.

Her original work certainly deserves it. However I know her so slightly that I am reluctant to give my decisive vote until I learn more of her from her contemporaries. You were in her cla.s.s, Miss More, I understand."

"Yes."

At the smothered intensity of that simple word, Bea's head rotated swiftly to stare at the source of it. She had never seen that beautiful face like this before. On the campus Cla.s.s Day morning it had been friendly though with the hint of hardness about the mouth. In chapel it had been tragic with regret over the irrevocable. Now the dusky eyes were blazing with the light of coming triumph over an enemy at last delivered into her power.

"It is an exceptional distinction for so young a woman," continued the trustee, "and because it means so much to each of the rivals, a feather's weight of evidence may turn the scales for one or the other. I am anxious to be impartial. I invite this discussion merely to a.s.sure myself of Miss Whiton's irreproachable record. I wish sincerely to see her win."

"You never heard the exact circ.u.mstances that led to my expulsion from college?"

The defiant ring of this abrupt question brought Bea to her sense of the situation. She put out one hand to draw Robbie beyond earshot. But Robbie did not notice her. She was already touching Miss More's arm.

"Miss More, pardon me. I have hurried to give you this. I--I think Elizabeth would have enjoyed showing it to you. I--wish--she could have been here to-day. She would have been--glad."

Miss More took the paper mechanically. "Thank you, Robbie Belle. Will you wait one moment, dear? I want to speak to you." She turned again to the older woman. "It may be an enlightening little tale," she began, "and Miss Whiton plays a part in it. These are the facts."

Bea watched her, fascinated. The eyes seemed to be gazing away beyond the evergreens at old, unhappy, far-off things. Slowly they returned to nearer objects, dropped suddenly and caught for an instant upon some one pa.s.sing by. At sight of the swift gleam of bitter recognition, Bea followed the direction, and beheld Miss Whiton. She looked back again in time to see a wonderful change as Miss More's glance traveled unconsciously to the paper in her hand.

Robbie's wistful regard was also lingering upon the paper.

"Elizabeth loved it all--the cla.s.s--the whole college."

The trustee was evidently in haste. "And this enlightening little tale of yours, Miss More? Pardon me for urging you on. The importance of the issue--ah!" Bea saw her nod acquiescence in response to a gesture from some one who was waiting at the porte cochere. "I fear I shall not have time for it now. May I consult you later? You are sure, Miss More, that the story is something that I ought to hear?"

Miss More hesitated. "I don't know," she said slowly. "It may have been merely a schoolgirl misunderstanding. I will--think it over and let you know after the dinner. In any event, I thank you for your confidence.