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Updated: April 30, 2025
Apparently engrossed in her conversation with the girl who had been her favorite pupil during her freshman year, Miss Merton paid no attention to the sounds provoked by Mignon La Salle's unexpected arrival. As a matter of fact, she was quite aware of them, but chose to ignore them solely on Mignon's account. To rebuke the whisperers would tend toward embarrassing the French girl.
Mignon's elfish eyes gleamed angrily. "I think such beggars as she ought never to be allowed to come to our parties. Goodness knows where she borrowed that dress. Perhaps she didn't borrow it." She raised her shoulders significantly. "If Laurie Armitage knew what a low, disreputable family she has, I don't think he'd waste his time with her."
She threw up her right hand, filled with poor Mignon's life-drops; they spirted, one or two of them, on his shooting-dress, an ominous sight to the follower. But the master only laughed a little, forced, scornful laugh, and went on to the Hall. Before he got there, however, he took out a gold piece, and bade the boy carry it to the old woman on his return to the village.
"And what then? suppose my Modeste were to die of grief?" He gazed mechanically out of the windows of the hotel des Princes, and then returned to the sofa, where he sat motionless. The fatigues of six voyages to India, the anxieties of speculation, the dangers he had encountered and evaded, and his many griefs, had silvered Charles Mignon's head.
We will take this free-flowing sketch of their passage over the Alps; written amid "the rocks of Arona," Santo Borromeo's country, and poor little Mignon's! The "elder Perdonnets" are opulent Lausanne people, to whose late son Sterling had been very kind in Madeira the year before: "To Mrs. Sterling, Knightsbridge, London. "ARONA on the LAGO MAGGIORE, 8th Oct., 1838.
I never mentioned it before because well you know I've never liked Mignon La Salle since she nearly broke up basket ball at Sanford High last year, and I was afraid it might sound hateful on my part, but the girls of Mignon's squad are as tricky as can be. Twice, in the first practice game we played, I had my own troubles with them. Once Daisy Griggs nearly knocked me over.
Suddenly she divined, rather than saw, Mignon's elfish eyes fixed upon her. "You met another girl, at noon, did you not, Miss Dean?" asked the French girl, with an almost sarcastic inflection. "Yes; Miss Stevens," was the composed answer. "We share the same locker. She is a nice girl, too, and I like her very much, so, please, don't say anything against her," she ended, in half-smiling warning.
Forgetting her recent change of costume, she took the stairs, two at a time, and ran squarely against Lawrence Armitage and Marjorie Dean. Marjorie could not resist a low laugh of contemptuous scorn as she viewed the stormy-eyed girl whose unscrupulous plan had failed. The contempt in her pretty face deepened as her quick eyes took in the details of Mignon's costume.
She grew distrustful: she feared some treachery on Mignon's part, for he was quite capable of preaching to his wife, and so she gave Fauchery his CONGE as he now only paid her in fame. But she always recollected him kindly. They had both enjoyed themselves so much at the expense of that fool of a La Faloise!
She passed the ball to Susan Atwell, who scored, thereby winning a salvo of hearty applause from the gallery. The watchful spectators had not been blind to the unfair methods of the grays. Two goals followed in their favor. So far the grays had done nothing. Unnerved by Marjorie's just censure and the fear of exposure, they paid little heed to Mignon's glowering glances and frantic signals.
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