“Of course, I am anxious to be with mother and father,” put in Mary loyally, “but I hate to leave Sanford. There are lots of things I meant to do this year that I didn’t do last year.”
“But you can’t be in two places at once,” was Jerry’s blunt consolation. “Never mind, Mary, you can come back to visit us and we’ll write you lots of letters. Marjorie is such a splendid correspondent.” Her accompanying jolly chuckle robbed this last pertinent fling of offence. “We’ll write you all the news. That reminds me, I’ve some for you girls. You’ll never guess who stayed at the same hotel with us this summer. I didn’t write about it, because I wanted to have it to tell when I came home.”
Mary cast a sidelong glance at the stout girl. There had been a faint touch of disgust in Jerry’s intonation. “Was it—Mignon?” she asked, half hesitant.
“Oh, I just wondered,” was Mary’s brief response. A tide of red had risen to her white skin, called there by distressing memories.
“Yes, it was our dear Mignon,” continued Jerry briskly. “And she has a friend, Rowena Farnham, who likewise stayed at our hotel. Believe me, they were a well-matched pair. You see the La Salles usually go to Severn Beach every summer, but they always stay at Cliff House. We always go to the Sea Gull. That’s the whole length of the beach from their hotel. Imagine how pleased I was to see Mignon come parading down to dinner one evening, after we’d been there about two weeks. I was so disgusted that I wanted my father to pack up and move us over to Cliff House. But he wouldn’t, the hard-hearted person.
“That is only part of my tale. The worst now comes trailing along. It’s about this Rowena Farnham. It seems that the Farnhams moved to Sanford last June just after school closed and——”
“Is this Rowena Farnham a very tall, pretty girl with perfectly gorgeous auburn hair and big black eyes?” broke in Mary abruptly.
“Yes. Where did you ever see her?” demanded Jerry. “Where was I that I didn’t?”
“Oh, I saw her one day in the post-office with Mignon. It was after you had gone away. I thought she must be a guest at the La Salles’.”
“You thought wrong. She lives in that big house with the immense grounds just the other side of the La Salles' home. It’s the one with that terribly high, ornamental iron fence. I always used to call it the Jail. It made me think of one. But that’s not my news, either. This new girl is going to be a sophomore at Sanford High. I’m sorry for poor old Sanford High.”