Part 16 (1/2)

”Please come in. I will tell the doctor.” The maid disappeared into a room at the right of the colonial hall. Quickly returning, she said: ”In there, Miss.” She pointed to the door which she had left partially open.

The president was seated at a flat-topped mahogany desk. He rose as Marjorie entered and came forward to meet her.

”Good afternoon,” he greeted, in the deep, pleasant voice which made his addresses a delight to the ear. ”Norah tells me you have a note for me from Miss Humphrey.”

”Good afternoon,” Marjorie returned. ”Here is the note. Miss Humphrey said there would be no answer.” She half turned as though to depart.

”Just a moment.” The doctor was regarding her with keen but friendly eyes. ”You are not of the clerical force at Hamilton Hall. Let me think.

You are a soph.o.m.ore, are you not?” He asked the question triumphantly, smiling as he spoke.

”Yes; I am a soph.o.m.ore.” Marjorie's brown eyes held polite amazement.

”I am very proud of my memory for faces,” Doctor Matthews continued. ”I rarely forget a face, though I do not always remember names. You were one of the freshman ushers at Commencement last June. Now you have come into soph.o.m.ore estate. How do you like it?”

”Better than being a freshman.” It was Marjorie's turn to smile. ”I am so much better acquainted with Hamilton College now. I am sure there isn't another college in the world half so fine.” She blossomed into involuntary enthusiasm. ”Mr. Brooke Hamilton must have been a wonderful man. He planned everything here so n.o.bly.”

”He was, indeed, a man of n.o.ble character and true spirituality. I would rather be president of Hamilton College than any other college I have ever visited or been connected with. I revere the memory of Brooke Hamilton. It is unfortunate we know so little of him. His great-niece, Miss Susanna Hamilton, lives at Hamilton Arms. She is the last of the Hamilton family. Unfortunately for the college, she became incensed at the churlish behavior toward her of a member of the Board whose estate adjoined hers. This was many years ago. She had been on the verge of turning over to the college a great deal of interesting data regarding Brooke Hamilton which was private family history. Doctor Burns, then president of Hamilton, was to write the biography of the lovable founder of our college. After the falling-out with the Board member she refused to give up the data. Since then she has ignored the college. Brooke Hamilton's biography yet remains to be written.”

”A case of the innocent having to suffer with the guilty,” Marjorie said, her eyes very bright. She was privately exultant to have learned this bit of news of the Hamiltons. She had heard that the last of the Hamiltons, a woman, lived at Hamilton Arms. Leila had told her a little concerning the present owner of the Hamilton estate.

After a few further remarks on the subject of Hamilton College, she gracefully took her leave. As she stepped from the hall to the veranda, she encountered the same young woman she had met on her way into the house. This time the girl was seated in one of the porch rockers. Her eyes, as they fixed themselves on Marjorie, looked more unfriendly than ever. Marjorie caught the hostile import of this second prolonged stare.

”What a hateful face that girl had,” she thought, as she continued down the walk. ”I don't recall ever having seen _her_ before. I'd certainly have remembered that face. Perhaps she's a relative of Doctor Matthews.

She seems to be quite at home.”

Returned to Wayland Hall, Marjorie's first act was to go to Lucy's room to give her Miss Humphrey's message. This time she found Lucy in but alone.

”Where's Ronny?” she inquired, after she had explained to Lucy the registrar's present difficulty, ”I haven't seen her except at meals for two days.”

”She's out with Leila and Vera waiting for the election returns. They are anxious to find out if Phil won.”

”Hope she did,” was Marjorie's fervent wish. ”You can never guess in a thousand years to whom I was talking this afternoon.”

”I'm a poor guesser. You'd better tell me,” Lucy said in her concise fas.h.i.+on.

”All right, I will. It was President Matthews.” Lucy's greenish eyes turning themselves on her in astonishment, Marjorie laughed, then went on to relate the circ.u.mstances.

Lucy listened with the profound interest of a wise young owl. ”What do you think of him?” she asked reflectively, when Marjorie had finished.

”Does he seem the kind of man that would do a person an injustice? I'm thinking of Miss Remson now.”

”I thought of her, too, while I was in his office,” Marjorie responded.

”No; he doesn't appear to be anything but broad-minded and just. Still, we mustn't forget that his name was signed to that letter.”

”Did you see his secretary?” Lucy quizzed. ”She is over at his house some of the time. He is usually at Hamilton Hall until one o'clock in the afternoon, then he goes home. I understand he transacts a good deal of college business at his home office.”

”I didn't see anyone but the maid who answered the door and the president. Oh, I'll take that back. I saw a girl coming out of the house as I was going up the steps. When I came out I saw her again. She was sitting on the veranda. She had such a disagreeable expression. I noticed it particularly the second time I saw her.”

”Describe her,” Lucy tersely commanded.