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Updated: May 4, 2025
"It will dawn upon you suddenly some day," prophesied Mabel, "and you will wonder why you never thought of it before." The diners strolled along together as far as the campus. There, Constance Fuller, Mabel, Frances and Helen Burton left the quartette from Wayne Hall. "It's early yet," said Elfreda, consulting her watch. "What time is it, Elfreda?" asked Grace.
"'Petty difficulties!" almost screamed Elfreda. "Well, I like your impudence." Jerking herself from the girls' embrace she stood up and walked to the other side of the room. Stumbling over one of her shoes she kicked it viciously aside, then, leaning her head against the door, her sobs broke forth afresh. In a twinkling Miriam was beside her. "Poor Elfreda," she soothed.
Don't you remember how pretty the country was? There was a brook and long green hills sloping down to it." "Grace Harlowe!" exclaimed Elfreda, her eyes very round. "You must be a mind reader, for that's precisely what I've been thinking about all morning. I'm so glad you proposed it. What do you say, girls? How about a picnic?" There was a ringing assent on the part of the others.
"I feel at least a hundred years old to-day," announced J. Elfreda Briggs, as she stood arranging her hair before the mirror preparatory to putting on her cap and gown. "Yes, you look quite like some grand old ruin," observed Miriam soberly, as she unearthed her slippers from the depths of her closet and hunted vainly about for a shoe horn.
"Not as we are," replied Miriam, with a positive shake of her head. "Elfreda and I were talking of that very thing while you were in your room. Elfreda said she didn't believe that Mabel had known Miss West long." "What is the matter with us?" asked Grace, a trifle impatiently.
I know I never shall be able to stand it to ride so far," declared Emma, tilting her nose up, her head inclined over her right shoulder, a characteristic pose for her when she thought she was saying something smart. As usual, her remark brought a laugh. "Emma Dean, your nose is the last word in neat impertinence," declared Elfreda Briggs. "Were you a man, some one surely would flatten it for you.
"I'll go inside with you, and show you the room. It's that little room off the hall," volunteered Alberta. The outside door stood wide open. Elfreda peered fearfully down the little hall, then stepped resolutely into the little room at one side of it. A door slammed. There was the sound of a key turning in a lock, a rush of scurrying feet; then silence.
"She has a decided southern accent." "Yes, she was born and brought up in Virginia. Her father was a naval officer and was court-martialed when she was a baby for something he didn't do," related Elfreda. "He left home in disgrace and her mother died soon afterward. He never came back to claim her, so her aunt and uncle brought her up.
Yet there is something sturdy and frankly independent about her, too, that makes one think she's worth bothering with after all." "How did her father make his money?" asked Grace. "Lumber," replied Miriam. "They own tracts of timber land in Michigan. Elfreda can have anything she asks for." Grace sat down on Miriam's bed, her chin in her hands.
Nora fetched water from the spring near which the camp had been pitched, and Elfreda bathed the wound that she found on Grace's head. Elfreda's hospital training during the war, in France, had already stood her in good stead on several occasions since her return from Europe. "This is not a gunshot wound," she announced after a critical examination of the patient's head.
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