"I don't know any such person," denied Grace, laughing merrily at Emma's remarkable self-arraignment. "It sounds more like a Thesaurus than a category of your failings, Emma. Come along. We mustn't keep this man waiting."

Emma dutifully climbed into the automobile. "One never knows what will happen next," she remarked naively as they seated themselves in the car. "I feel as Cinderella must have felt when she was suddenly whisked off to the ball by her fairy godmother. By the way, Grace, how is Mrs. Gray, the fairy godmother of Harlowe House?"

"I've been so busy coaxing you to come and live with me, I forgot to tell you that she and I were down here in August, and who do you suppose we had as a visitor?"

"Arline Thayer?" asked Emma.

"No; but that wasn't a bad guess. J. Elfreda was with us."

"Bless her!" Emma's exclamation told plainly of her affection for the one-time stout girl. "Was she as funny as ever?"

"Every bit. She kept Mrs. Gray and I in a perpetual state of laughter. She's going to study law in New York City, and she's promised to come to Overton for Thanksgiving. Arline Thayer and Mabel Ashe are coming too. We'll have a great celebration."

"I'm certainly glad I'm here," sighed Emma, contentedly. "There seems to be a prospect of one continuous round of pleasure."

"I'm glad you are here too," nodded Grace. "You don't know how queerly I felt to-day when I stepped off the train without seeing a soul I knew. I suppose there are a number of girls here, although it's early. Classes won't be called for at least a week or more. We'll surely see some familiar spirits soon. There are Patience Eliot, Kathleen West, Laura Atkins, Mildred Evans, Violet Darby, Myra Stone and ever so many others still due in the land of Overton."

"Why, that's so," declared Emma, her eyes bright with the prospect of seeing her Overton friends. "Do you know, Grace, I'm ashamed to say I hadn't really considered those girls. All along I've thought about the Sempers and how strange and gray everything would seem without them."

"I know it," sighed Grace. "I've felt exactly the same. Anne, Miriam, Arline, Ruth, Elfreda and you were my absent crushes, but now you are a present one, and next to you comes Patience Eliot. She always seemed like a senior. I think I'm going to love the new Kathleen West dearly. She is so clever, and now that we are friends I hope we can work together in ever so many ways."

As the taxicab bore them swiftly toward Harlowe House the two young women talked on of the happy past with its pleasure-marked milestones.

"We're almost there. Look, Emma! You can get a splendid view of all the campus houses. Now isn't Harlowe House the prettiest of them all?"

"It is, I swear it," returned Emma solemnly, "and, if I'm not mistaken, one of your household has arrived ahead of you. Certainly some one is camping out on the front steps."

"Why, so there is. I wonder who she can be. One of the maids, I suppose, or perhaps the cook. We'll know who she is in a minute."

The car had now come to a full stop. Without waiting for the chauffeur Grace opened the door and sprang out. "Never mind our luggage," she said as she paid the driver. "We'll carry it into the house. It's not very heavy."

Gathering her belongings in one hand, and picking up one of Emma's suit cases, Grace set off up the stone walk followed by Emma. As she advanced there rose from the steps and came to meet her a most astonishing little figure.



CHAPTER VIII

A STRANGE APPLICANT

"This is Harlowe House, isn't it?" was the sharp question that assailed Grace's ears.

"Yes." Grace's eyes traveled in amazement over the curious little stranger within her gates. She was a girl of perhaps eighteen, although there was a strained, anxious expression in her large brown eyes that made her look positively aged, an effect which the three deep lines in her high projecting forehead served to emphasize. If she possessed hair it was not visible under the small round hat of a by-gone style which set down upon her head like a helmet. She wore a plain, cheap black skirt and a queer, old-fashioned white blouse made with a peplum. Around her waist was a leather belt, and on her feet were coarse heavy shoes such as a farm laborer might wear. In one hand she carried a large bundle, in a newspaper wrapping.

"I'm so glad. I thought I'd never get here," she said simply.

Grace and Emma exchanged amazed glances. This must be the maid. But such a maid!

"Are you the young woman Mrs. Elwood engaged?" asked Grace politely.

The girl shook her head. "I don't know what you mean. No one engaged me. I just came because I heard about Harlowe House and wanted to go to college. I've passed all my high school examinations and I've a scholarship too. They wouldn't let me come, so I ran away from home and walked all the way here. Is it true that a girl can live at Harlowe House without having to pay her board?" she eyed Grace with a look of mingled anxiety and defiance.

"Oh," Grace's amazed look changed to one of interested concern, "pardon me. I thought you were a young woman of whom Mrs. Elwood, of Wayne Hall, had spoken."

"I don't know Mrs. Elwood. I never heard of Wayne Hall. I don't know a soul in this town. I only know that I want to go to Overton College more than I ever wanted anything else in my life. Do you suppose there's a chance for me to live at Harlowe House and study? I've walked over a hundred miles to find out," finished the queer little stranger pleadingly.

"'Over a hundred miles!'" repeated Grace and Emma in chorus.

The girl nodded solemnly.

"You poor child!" exclaimed Emma Dean impulsively. "If your wish to be an Overton girl brought you that distance on foot, I should say you ought to have all the chance there is. At any rate you have applied to the proper authority. This is Miss Harlowe, for whom Harlowe House was named, and who is to be in charge of it. I am Miss Dean, of 19— and now assistant in English at Overton."

But the knowledge that she was face to face with the person who held the privilege of being a member of Harlowe House in her hands overcame the quaint stranger with a sudden shyness. She shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to the other, twisted her thin, bony hands nervously, while her forehead was corrugated afresh with deep wrinkles.

With the frank, winning smile which was one of Grace's chief charms, she held out her hand to the other girl. "I am glad to know you," she said. "Won't you tell me your name?"

"Mary Reynolds," returned the newcomer in a low voice, as she timidly shook Grace's proffered hand, then Emma's.

"I shall be glad to welcome you to Harlowe House," said Grace cordially, "provided you can fulfill the requirements necessary for entering Overton. I am going over to Miss Wilder's office this afternoon, and if you wish to go with me you can learn all the particulars. Until then, however, you had better come into the house with Miss Dean and me. I am sure you must be very tired."

"Yes, I am, but I don't mind that. I'm here and nothing else matters," returned the girl so fervently that Grace felt a sudden mist rise to her eyes, and she determined, then and there, that if this curious, destitute little stranger succeeded in measuring up to Overton's mental requirements, she would smooth in every possible way her path, which she foresaw would be troubled.

"And now for our triumphal entry into Harlowe House," declaimed Emma Dean, as she and Grace picked up their luggage, and, followed by Mary Reynolds and her huge newspaper-wrapped bundle, mounted the steps. At the door Grace again set down her luggage. Fumbling for her latch key she fitted it to the lock.

"What a perfectly delightful place!" was Emma's enthusiastic cry, as she stepped into the hall which was done in oak with furnishings to match. "Commend me to the living-room!" She poked her head inquisitively through the soft green silk hangings and after surveying the pretty room for an instant made a dive for the window seat. "Oh, you window seat!" she laughed with a fine disregard for dignity.

Grace laughed with her, and queer little Mary Reynolds smiled in sheer sympathy with Emma's irresistible drollery.

"I choose this green window seat for my boon companion," declared Emma, curling her wiry length cosily upon it, "and may I be ever faithful to my vows. I expect to have difficulty in protecting my claim, for I predict this will be the most popular spot in the house. May I put up a sign, Grace, 'This claim is staked by Emma Dean, no others need apply'?"

"You may stake it, but I won't guarantee that it will stay staked," replied Grace.

"Oh, yes, it will," argued Emma confidently, bouncing up and down on the soft springy cushions. "The freshmen of Harlowe House will be so impressed with my height, dignity and general appearance that they will defer to me as a matter of course. One imperious look, like this, over my glasses, and the world will be mine." She peered over her glasses at Grace in a ludicrous fashion which was far more likely to convulse, rather than impress, the prospective freshmen.

Even the solemn stranger giggled outright, then looked as though she had been caught red-handed in some dreadful crime.

"I'd like to recite English in one of your classes, Emma," smiled Grace.

"Now there is just where you are wrong," retorted Emma. "I shan't have a single amusing feature in my daily round of recitations. I shall be as grim as grim can be and a regular slave driver as far as lessons are concerned. Those freshmen will wish they'd never met me." Emma wagged her head threateningly.

"Stop making such dire threats and come upstairs to see our quarters," commanded Grace.

Emma uncoiled herself from the window seat with alacrity and began gathering up her belongings.

Grace turned kindly to Mary Reynolds. "If you will come upstairs with us, Miss Reynolds, I think we can easily find a room for you. So far I do not know just how many applications Miss Wilder has received. As I told you, I am going over to the office after luncheon. You had better go to your room and rest a little, then take luncheon with Miss Dean and me and go with us to Overton Hall to see Miss Wilder, the dean."

"I—I—thank you," stammered the girl, the dull color flooding her sunburnt cheeks. "I'm afraid—I—can't go to luncheon—with you. I'm—not—very hungry."

Emma Dean flashed a quick, appraising glance at her from under her eyelashes. "Neither are we," she assured the embarrassed girl, "but still we don't care to miss luncheon entirely. You are a stranger in a strange land, so you must be our guest, and then some day when you are a seasoned Overtonite we'll insist on being yours."

Mary Reynolds regarded the two young women with shy, grateful eyes. "You are so good to me. You must know, of course, that I am very poor. I have nothing in the world but this bundle of clothes and ten dollars," she said humbly. "It took me two years to save it, I have been so sure that there would be some little corner of this wonderful house for me. I can't bear to think that I may be too late. I don't know where I'd go. I guess I'd have to try to find some place else. Do you suppose I am too late?" Her tones vibrated with alarm.

"Of course you aren't," soothed Emma Dean. "I'm always late, but, as I used to tell Miss Harlowe, I am hardly ever too late. You may be almost the first girl to apply, or you may be among the latest, but not the too latest. There, isn't that encouraging? The best thing for you to do is to have an early luncheon and a long sleep. Suppose we go down to Vinton's, Grace, as soon as we get the fond souvenirs of the railroad off our faces. Then I'll come back here with Miss Reynolds and you can go on to Overton to see Miss Wilder. My business with her will keep until to-morrow. This little girl is too tired for interviews to-day."

"I think that's dear in you, Emma, and real wisdom too. Now let's go upstairs, at once." Grace led the way and the trio ascended to the second story.

"I'm going to put you in this room for the present, Miss Reynolds," said Grace. She paused before a door that faced the head of the stairs and threw it open. It was a pretty room, papered in dainty blue and white, with a blue and white floor rug and white enameled furniture. There were crisp, white dotted-swiss curtains at the windows and a sheer blue and white ruffled cover on the dressing table, while on the walls hung several neatly-framed water color and pen and ink sketches.

The shabby, tired girl gave a long sigh of satisfaction and weariness as she stood in the middle of the floor, her eyes eagerly devouring the pretty room.

"The bathroom is at the end of the hall," said Grace gently. "We'll stop for you in about half an hour."

The other girl did not answer, and Grace and Emma slipped away, leaving her to get used to her new surroundings.

"Well, did you ever?" asked Emma, the moment they were inside Grace's sitting-room with the door closed.

Grace shook her head. "Poor little thing," she murmured. "She can't possibly go about Overton in those clothes, Emma. Yet I can't offer her any of mine. She seems independent. I am afraid she would resent it. I wonder what her story is. Did you notice she said that 'they' wouldn't let her go to college, so she had run away from home? Suppose some one of her family should follow her here just after we had nicely established her at Harlowe House? We must find out everything about her. I won't bother her with questions while she is so tired."

"I am sure she is eighteen," declared Emma positively. "That will free her from parental sway in this state. I think it would be a greater tragedy if she has come too late. What is the highest number of girls Harlowe House will accommodate?"

"Thirty-two," answered Grace.

"Then let us hope that Mary Reynolds is not unlucky thirty-three. The sooner you go to see Miss Wilder the sooner you'll know her fate. Now I'm going on a tour of exploration and noisy admiration. I'm sure I haven't ohs and ahs enough to fully express my feeling of elevated pleasure at so much magnificence. And to thing that I, ordinary, every-day me, should be asked to become co-partner to all this." Emma struck an attitude and launched forth into fresh extravagances over the tastefully furnished suite of rooms.

"Emma, you ridiculous creature, wind up your lecture and get ready for luncheon," commanded Grace affectionately.

"Not until I've seen the last saw," returned Emma firmly.

For the next ten minutes she prowled and peered, examined and admired, to her heart's content. "Now I've seen everything," she averred, at last, with calm satisfaction, "and I'm twice as hungry as I was. But I can't leave off thinking what a lucky person Emma Dean is to have all this grandeur and Grace Harlowe thrown in."

"And I can't help thinking what a lucky person Grace Harlowe is to have Emma Dean."

"Then we're a mutual admiration society," finished Emma, "and there's no telling where we'll leave off."

"If I didn't have to go on to Overton Hall I wouldn't wear a hat," sighed Grace, half an hour later, reaching reluctantly for her hat. She and Emma had bathed their faces, rearranged their hair, and put on fresh lingerie blouses with their tailored suits. "Are you ready, Emma? I wonder if Miss Reynolds is. I'll stop and see."

Grace knocked lightly on the newcomer's door. It was opened immediately.

"Are you ready, Miss Reynolds?" she asked, her alert eyes noting that the offending peplum had been tucked inside the black skirt, and that Mary Reynolds with her hat off was a vast improvement on Mary Reynolds with her hat on. She also observed that the girl's hair, though drawn uncompromisingly back from her forehead, showed a decided tendency to curl. With her usual impulsiveness she exclaimed, "Oh, you have naturally curly hair, haven't you? It's such a pretty shade of brown. Do let me do it for you. It's a pity not to make the most of it."

The girl regarded her with grave surprise. "Are you making fun of me?" she asked seriously.

"'Making fun of you,'" repeated Grace. "I should say not. I think you have beautiful hair. Why, what is it, Miss Reynolds?" For, with a queer, choking cry, the odd little stranger threw herself face downward on the bed and sobbed disconsolately.

Grace stood silent, watching the sob-wracked figure with puzzled, sympathetic eyes. Emma appeared in the doorway, her eyebrows elevated in astonishment. Grace motioned for her to come in. The girl on the bed wept on, while the two young women waited patiently for her sobs to cease.

Suddenly she sat up with a jerk, and dashed her hand across her eyes. "I'm sorry—I—was so—so—silly," she faltered, "but I couldn't help it. No one ever told me that I was anything but plain and ugly before."

"You poor little thing," sympathized Emma.

Grace sat down on the bed beside Mary and put her arm across the thin shoulders. "Cheer up," she said brightly. "I am sure you are going to be happy at Overton. You feel blue just now because you are tired and hungry. Let me fix your hair and we'll hurry to Vinton's as fast as ever we can. I'm simply starved."

Mary Reynolds obediently sat on the chair Grace placed for her and the hair dressing began. Grace and Emma both exclaimed in admiration as Grace unbraided the soft-golden brown hair, which, once free, broke into waves and curls.

"Did you ever see a prettier head of hair?" exclaimed Emma.

"I think it would look best combed low over her forehead, don't you?" asked Grace.

Emma nodded her approval as Grace, with deft fingers, arranged the thick curly locks in a strictly smart fashion which completely changed Mary Reynolds' forlorn appearance.

"Now look in the glass," directed Grace, when she had finished.

Mary gazed earnestly at her new self. "It can't be me," she said with a pardonable disregard of English.

"But it is," Grace assured her. "You must learn to do your hair like that and wear it so. Now let me put a tiny bit of powder on your face to scare away the tear stains and we'll be off."

The obnoxious helmet-like hat did not seem so unbecoming, now that Mary's curls peeped from under it, and Grace felt a certain degree of satisfaction in her efforts to make the new girl at least presentable. She decided that once her large brown eyes had lost their scared, anxious expression and her thin face had grown plump, Mary would be really pretty.

During luncheon at Vinton's Grace quietly studied her charge. There was something about Mary that reminded one of Ruth Denton, she decided. She and Emma made every effort to put the prospective freshman at her ease. By common consent they refrained from asking any questions likely to produce another flood of tears. As for Mary herself, although visibly embarrassed at the ultra-smartness of Vinton's, the attention of the waiter, and the puzzling array of knives, forks and spoons, she managed, by watching Grace and Emma, to acquit herself with credit. Thanks to Emma's never-failing flow of humorous remarks the luncheon proved to be a merry meal and before it ended the forlorn girl looked almost happy.

"I'll see you later," said Grace, as they paused for a moment in front of Vinton's. "Emma, I leave Miss Reynolds in your care."

"I accept the responsibility," declared Emma, flourishing her parasol in fantastic salute. "I'm going to march her home and put her to bed."

"While I go on to Overton Hall to learn her fate," smiled Grace. "Good-bye. You may expect me when you see me."

Grace swung across the campus toward Overton Hall at her usual brisk pace. A few moments more and she would be fairly launched in her new undertaking. She had no desire to run out to meet the future, yet she could not refrain from wondering what her first year on the campus would bring her. So far it had brought her Mary Reynolds, but somewhere in the world there were thirty-one other girls whose faces were set toward Overton and Harlowe House.

A peculiar wave of dismay swept over Grace at the thought of actually being responsible for the welfare of so many persons. The old saying concerning the rushing in of fools where angels walk warily came involuntarily to her mind. Then she laughed and squaring her capable shoulders murmured half aloud, "I'm neither a fool nor an angel. I'm just Grace Harlowe, a 'mere ordinary human being,' as Hippy would put it. I'm not going to be so silly as to expect to get along with a whole houseful of girls without some friction. Like the gardens Anne and I planted away back in our freshman year, there are sure to be a few weeds among the flowers."



CHAPTER IX

MARY REYNOLDS MAKES A NEW FRIEND

"Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one and Mary Reynolds makes thirty-two. Isn't it fortunate that there was a place all ready for her?" Grace Harlowe looked eagerly up from the list of names which she had been intently scanning.

"Very fortunate," smiled Miss Wilder. "I am quite curious to see your protege, Miss Harlowe."

Miss Wilder, the dean of Overton College, had been genuinely glad to welcome Grace Harlowe back to the college fold. During Grace's four years as a student at Overton she had greatly endeared herself to the dignified, but kindly, dean, who had watched her pass from honor to honor with the same sympathetic interest which Miss Thompson, the principal of Oakdale High School, had ever exhibited in Grace's progress.

It was now almost four o'clock in the afternoon. Grace had spent a busy two hours in Miss Wilder's office going over the applications for admittance to Harlowe House and discussing ways and means with her superior.

"Do you know, Miss Wilder, that one of the very nicest things about you is your interest in one's friends and plans?" Grace regarded the older woman with sparkling eyes. "Away back in my freshman days I can remember that I never came to you with anything, but that you were interested and sympathetic."

"My dear child!" Miss Wilder put up a protesting hand.

"It's perfectly true," persisted Grace staunchly. "I am sure I could never have planned everything so beautifully for Harlowe House if you hadn't helped me."

"But I had such a wonderful source of inspiration," reminded Miss Wilder, turning the tide of approbation in Grace's direction.

"I wish I could agree with you," laughed Grace, her color rising. Then her face grew earnest. "It would make me very happy if I thought that, as the head of Harlowe House, I could inspire my girls to love Overton as deeply and truly as I do. I don't intend to preach to them or to moralize, but I do wish them to gain real college spirit. If they strive to cultivate that, it will mean more to them than all the talks and lectures one could give them. Don't you think so?"

"I do, indeed," agreed Miss Wilder warmly.

"Of course," went on Grace thoughtfully, "there is the possibility that some of these girls may fail in their entrance examinations. Undoubtedly they will have to take them, for no girl who applies for admission to Harlowe House will have come from a preparatory school. Naturally, they will all be high school graduates. Some of them will have scholarships and some will not. It is going to be more or less of a struggle for those who have none to earn their college fees—that is, if they haven't saved the money for them beforehand. I am reasonably certain that poor little Mary Reynolds hasn't a penny of her own, other than the ten dollars she has saved. But if she passes her examinations she can borrow the money for her college fees from Semper Fidelis. Then, too, there is the subject of rules and regulations to be considered."

"A very important subject," interposed Miss Wilder. "The success of Harlowe House will depend upon its rules and their absolute enforcement."

"Don't you think it would be a nice idea to draw up a little constitution and by-laws as they do in clubs. It would not cost very much to have a certain number of copies of them printed, and a copy placed in each girl's room. Oh, Miss Wilder, wouldn't it be splendid if we could form the girls of Harlowe House into a social club. It would bring them in touch with one another, teach them to be self-governing, and do an endless amount of good." Grace finished with sudden inspiration.

For a moment Miss Wilder did not answer. She was evidently turning the matter over in her own mind. "It is rather an unusual idea," she said slowly, "but I should not be surprised to see it work out well. Among a number of young women who, aside from the advantages Harlowe House offers them, are practically dependent upon their own resources you are sure to find a variety of dispositions, some of them a little warped from their struggle with poverty. I should say that they could be reached and understood better by becoming members of this club, which you propose, than by any other method. Yes, decidedly, it is a good plan."

Grace remained with the dean until after five o'clock talking earnestly of her new work. "Oh, dear, I can scarcely wait for the next two weeks to pass I'm so anxious to begin," she sighed, as she gathered together her gloves, handkerchief and parasol and rose to go. "Miss Dean will come to see you to-morrow morning, Miss Wilder. I'll send Miss Reynolds with her."

The sun was well advanced on his daily pilgrimage down the western sky, and Grace's usually rapid steps lagged as she crossed the dear familiar campus. Her eyes strayed lovingly from the green velvety carpeting under her feet to the red and yellow pennants of autumn which the trees were flaunting so bravely. It was hard to say at which season of the year Overton campus was most beautiful. To Grace it was like some familiar friend who was constantly surprising her with new and endearing virtues.

She gazed across the wide stretch of green toward Morton House. Two girlish figures were seated on the steps apparently deep in their own interests. A little farther on she met three sophomores, who, recognizing her, bowed to her in smiling admiration. Grace stopped and held out her hand with the frank cordiality which characterized her. After a pleasant exchange of greetings they passed on greatly elated over the fact that "that clever Miss Harlowe, who was the most popular girl at Overton last year," had remembered them.

"We're beginning to gather home," she murmured softly. She was passing Holland House now, and it brought back delightful memories of Mabel Ashe. Her glance rested wistfully on the front door. She half expected to see it open and to see coming toward her the lithe, graceful figure of the girl whose dainty hands had been the first to grasp hers in friendly welcome, when, as an untried freshman, she had first set foot in the land of Overton so long ago. "Mabel," she breathed, "dear, dear girl! If ever I come to mean half as much to lonely freshmen as you meant to me, I shall feel that I have succeeded gloriously."

Wrapped in recollections of the past, which she realized were bound to haunt her at every turn until time and work had banished her sense of loss, Grace did not hear the light footsteps of the tall young woman who bore noiselessly down upon her like an avenging fate. Suddenly Grace felt two soft, cool hands close over her eyes.

"Oh!" she gasped. Then she laughed. "I know it's some one I'm anxious to see. Is it Kathleen?"

The hands did not relax their pressure.

"Is it Laura Atkins?" guessed Grace again.

The pressure tightened a little.

"I know now," cried Grace. "Why didn't I guess you first of all? It's Patience."

The hands fell away from her eyes. Grace wheeled about into a pair of encircling arms. A very tall, fair-haired young woman stood looking down on her with a face full of lively affection. "I wonder if you are as glad to see me as I am to see you, Grace," was her first speech.

"Every bit as glad," responded Grace with emphasis. "Emma and I have been looking forward to your coming every day since we came."

"Emma?" interrogated Patience. "Do you mean to tell me that Emma Dean is here?"

"Yes," replied Grace happily. "She's come back to be Miss Duncan's assistant. Isn't that splendid?"

"I've been mourning Emma among the rest of the bright departed spirits," smiled Patience, "and thinking of how dull Wayne Hall will be this year without her. Emma is Emma, you know, and cannot be duplicated, imitated nor replaced. I suppose, as a teacher, she'll live in one of the faculty houses, instead of Wayne Hall."

"She is going to have part of my suite at Harlowe House," said Grace. "But, before I say another word, where are you going?"

"To Overton Hall to see Miss Wilder."

"Can't you put off going until to-morrow morning?" asked Grace.

"Yes, if you and Emma will go with me to the six-thirty train to meet Kathleen and then to dinner at Vinton's afterward."

"Will we?" cried Grace. "I should say—I'm afraid we can't, Patience." Her jubilant tone changed to one of disappointment. "I forgot all about Mary Reynolds."

"Who is Mary Reynolds and what did I ever do to her that causes her to conspire to cheat me of the society of my friends?" inquired Patience humorously.

"Not a single thing," assured Grace brightening again. "She's the thirty-second applicant for admission to Harlowe House, but she's living there as my guest for a few days until she finds out whether she 'belongs.' Suppose you walk over there with me. I wish you to see the house before the tenants arrive. I'll tell you the strange story of Mary Reynolds on the way over. Emma's at home, so you can see her, too."

"All right, I'll go, provided you and your entire family, including Mary Reynolds, escort me to the train to meet Kathleen."

"Here's my hand on it," promised Grace.

Patience caught it in both of hers. "It's good to be here, Grace," she said earnestly.

"It's good to have you here, Patience," returned Grace, in the same earnest tone.

Patience was met at the door by Emma, who had seen their approach from the living-room window, and who now pounced upon Patience and joyfully escorted her into the living-room.

"The plot thickens," declaimed Emma as the three paused in the middle of the room. "Hurrah for the old guard! Like Macbeth's immortal witches, I'll perform my antic round, just to show how jubilant I feel." She executed a few fantastic steps about Patience, then paused beside her, one hand on her shoulder. "Where did you acquire Patience, Grace?"

"I acquired this particular kind of Patience on the campus just a few moments ago. I have never actually acquired the other kind."

"You're not the only one," murmured Emma significantly.

"Where is our freshman-to-be?"

"In her room and fast asleep, I suppose. Although she wouldn't admit it, I know she was completely tired out. I could see that," she added slyly.

Patience and Grace smiled in quick recognition of J. Elfreda Briggs' pet phrase.

"How I wish 'I could see' dear old J. Elfreda. Wouldn't it be glorious if she were suddenly to appear in the flesh," sighed Emma.

"She was here with Mrs. Gray and I in August, Patience." Grace went on to relate the details of Elfreda's visit. "Emma has heard all this before. Still, you don't mind hearing it again, do you, Emma?"

"I could listen to it forever, and then ask for a repetition," asserted Emma with gallant glibness.

"I won't be so malicious as to take you at your word," returned Grace. "Will you tell Patience all the news while I run upstairs to see Miss Reynolds?"

"I will," nodded Emma, "and tell it truthfully and without embellishments. I am not a yellow journal. I am a reliable purveyor of facts and nothing but facts." She pounded on the library table with her clenched fist to emphasize her words.

"I believe you," assured Patience with mock solemnity, "and salute you as a disciple of truth."

Leaving her friends to exchange confidences, Grace ran lightly up the stairs and knocked on Mary Reynolds' door. Receiving no answer, she knocked again.

"She must be asleep," thought Grace. Then she turned the knob and entered the room. Surely enough the tired stranger lay on her couch bed, tranquil and slumber-wrapped. Sleep had smoothed away the lines of care and, in repose, her face looked soft and childish.

"Miss Reynolds."

The girl sat up with a little, startled cry. "Oh," she breathed, in relief. "I was so frightened. I forgot where I was."

"Miss Dean, a friend of ours and I are going to the station to meet another friend. We wish you to go with us," invited Grace. "That is, unless you prefer to stay here. You will be all alone in the house."

An expression of alarm showed itself in the girl's eyes. "I'd rather go with you, if you are sure I won't be in the way."

"Not in the least. We shall start in a few moments." With a cheerful smile that elicited a faint, answering one from the other girl, Grace left the room. She was back in an instant with something blue thrown over her arm. "Here is a little coat I took out of my trunk especially for you. It is cool enough for a coat to-night. This won't be too long for you. It's only three-quarter length on me."

"I—I—" stammered Mary, but Grace was gone.

Mary could not help thrilling a little with pure pleasure at sight of herself in the pretty blue serge coat. "I look just like them," she murmured. "I'm so glad I came. I won't go back either, and no one shall make me." She smoothed and patted her curly hair, then putting on her shabby hat went slowly down stairs.

Her momentary awe of Patience vanished when she discovered that, in spite of her dignified bearing, this tall, fair young woman was as full of fun as the droll Emma Dean.

The quartette started for the station with Patience and Emma in the lead. Grace walked with Mary, talking brightly of Overton to her absorbed listener. She had just begun to tell Mary of Kathleen West, her clever work as a newspaper woman and of how her play had won the honor pin, when they arrived at the station.

"Wait here while I see if the train is on time," directed Grace.

The three young women strolled slowly along the platform, pausing at one end of it.

"The train's on time," called Grace as she came out of the station and approached them. "It's due in four minutes. Listen! Didn't you hear it whistle?"

A minute later it was visible around the bend and bearing down on the station with a great puffing and whistling.

"I see her," announced Emma. "She's getting off at the upper end of the train."

An alert little figure in a gray coat suit came swinging down the platform, a suit case in each hand, her keen, dark eyes scanning every face. Suddenly she caught sight of her friends. Dropping her luggage she ran forward, both hands extended. Grace caught them in hers. The two embraced, then Grace passed Kathleen on to Patience.

"And to think that Emma Dean is to be one of us!" exclaimed Kathleen. "Emma, the one sure and certain cure for the blues. I didn't half appreciate you last year." A swift flush rose to her cheeks. "I didn't appreciate any one. I missed knowing Overton's best, but I'm so thankful that part of that best has come back again, so that I can really show how much I care," she finished, her eyes very bright.

The little company lingered on the platform, for there was so much to be said that they were loath to move on. So absorbed were they in their own affairs they did not observe that a tall, raw-boned, roughly dressed man, with a gaunt, disagreeable face had been stealthily edging nearer the group until within a few feet of them. All at once a long bony hand was thrust into their midst. The hand landed on the shoulder of Mary Reynolds, swinging her almost off her feet. She did not scream, but her face grew white and her eyes horror-stricken. Then she wrenched desperately to free herself from the cruel clutch, gasping, "Let—me—alone. I—won't—go back—with—you."

"Oh, ye won't, won't ye," growled the hateful intruder. "We'll see if ye won't. Get a move on." He half dragged, half shoved the now sobbing Mary along the platform.

For an instant no one of the astonished girls moved or protested. Then a small, lithe figure flung itself in front of the brutal fellow, barring his progress. "Take your hands off that girl," commanded a tense, authoritative voice.

As if in recognition of its authority the man's cruel hold on Mary's slender shoulder relaxed. Kathleen West's black eyes were blazing. With a swift forward movement she threw her arm protectingly across Mary's shoulder and drew her close. "Now," she said, her whole body tense with suppressed anger, "touch her if you dare."

"Ye better git out and mind yer own business or ye'll wish ye had," threatened the man, his first feeling of fear vanishing. "Yer nothin' but a lot o' silly girls. You git along," he ordered, fixing his scowling eyes on Mary.

"This little girl is going to stay with us. It is you that had better move on. If you aren't out of sight within the next three minutes I'll have you arrested for annoying us, and it won't be wise for you to come back again either."

Kathleen's face, as she stood calmly eyeing her disagreeable adversary, was like a study in stone. She looked as inexorable and relentless as Fate itself, and the bully understood dimly that here was a force with which he could not reckon.

"I'm a goin'," he mumbled sullenly, "but I'm a goin' to git the law on her," he pointed to Mary, "and make her git back where she belongs."

By this time several persons had hurried to the scene of the encounter. Kathleen's sole reply to the threat was a contemptuous shrug of her shoulders. "Come on, girls," she said so nonchalantly that the curious ones dropped disappointedly away. Not more than four minutes had elapsed from the time the uncouth stranger had appeared until he slunk off. Emma, Grace and Patience found their voices almost simultaneously.

"Well, of all things!" exclaimed Emma.

"I was literally amazed to dumbness," declared Patience.

"So was I for a minute, but Kathleen was so completely sure of herself that I knew it was better to be silent. She disposed of that obstreperous individual most summarily. Who is he, Miss Reynolds?" Grace turned grave eyes upon Mary. "We shall have to know all about him if we are to help you."

They were now walking slowly up the street.

"He's—my—uncle," faltered the girl. "Mother died last summer just after I finished high school, and I had no place to go. He wanted me to go out in the country and live on his farm. He said I could go to college, but after I went to the farm he and his wife made me do all the work, and laughed when I spoke of going to college. A nice girl I knew had told me about Overton and Harlowe House. She was in the town of Overton last commencement and heard about it. I told them I would go in spite of them, so they locked me in my room, but I climbed out the window and into a big tree, one of its branches was quite near the window, and then slid to the ground."

"How old are you, Miss Reynolds?" asked Kathleen West with apparent irrelevance.

"I was eighteen last week."

"Then you needn't worry about your uncle. You are of age and can do as you please."

"Do you mean that he can't make me leave here?" Mary Reynolds' eyes were wide with surprise and sudden hope.

"Of course he can't," reassured Kathleen. "Girls, I'm going to adopt Mary Reynolds as my especial charge and help her fight her battles in the Land of College. Mary, will you let me adopt you?"

Mary regarded Kathleen with shy admiration. She thought her the most wonderful person she had ever known. She was deeply grateful to Grace and her two friends for their kindness, but Kathleen's swift, efficient action on her behalf had completely won her heart. "I'd be the happiest girl in the world," she said solemnly.

The next morning Grace went frankly to Miss Wilder with the tragic story of Mary's struggle to obtain an education and the attempt her miserly uncle had made to force her to return to the farm.

"We shall be obliged to look into the matter," declared the dean. "Send Miss Reynolds to me as soon as possible. I must be very sure that she is all she represents herself to be. I should not care to have a repetition of the station scene later, on the campus, for instance. It would hardly add to the dignity of Overton."

"I'll bring her to your office to-morrow morning," said Grace, "then you can form your own opinion of her."

Mary Reynolds' wistful face was the last touch needed to completely enlist Miss Wilder's sympathy in her behalf. On the strength of the straightforward story which she repeated to the dean, she was allowed to proceed with her examinations. Meantime Miss Wilder wrote to the authorities of the little town near which Mary's uncle's farm was situated. They conducted a prompt investigation and by the time the hitherto friendless girl had passed triumphantly through the ordeal of examinations the faintest trace of objection to her becoming a student at Overton had been removed.



CHAPTER X

THE THIRTY-THIRD GIRL

"I am sorry," said Grace gently, "but I am afraid it will be impossible for me to do anything for your sister this year. Harlowe House will hold, comfortably, thirty-two girls and no more. It isn't so much a matter of meals. They could, perhaps, be arranged, but I haven't a room for your sister. Could she afford to rent a room in town and come here for her meals?" This was an afterthought on Grace's part, born of the desire to clear away the cruel shadow of disappointment that clouded the pale face of the woman who sat opposite her in her little office.

"I—am—afraid not," faltered the pale, thin woman, her tired eyes filling with an expression of resignation. "I thought I might be able to manage her college fees, if her living expenses could be arranged. We were so sorry that she did not win a scholarship. You are quite sure that there is no chance for her here?" she asked pleadingly, for the fourth time. "She has set her heart on coming to Overton. College means so much to a girl, and Evelyn is so clever. It seems a pity that she must stop with only a high school education."

Grace knitted her brows in earnest thought, while the pleading voice talked on. She felt an overpowering sympathy, not for the sister who wished to come to Overton, but for the sister who was now advocating her cause. And even as she thought the way in which one more girl might partake of the benefits of Harlowe House came to her. It was a way of sacrifice; she was not even sure that it could be done. Something in the expression of her face, however, seemed to inspire the woman opposite her with new hope. She leaned forward, with the eager question: "Am I wrong or does your face tell me that there is a chance for Evelyn?" For the first time she mentioned her sister's name.

"'Evelyn,'" repeated Grace half musingly. "What a pretty name. How old is your sister, Miss Ward?"

"She was eighteen last August."

"I can make you no definite promise yet," returned Grace slowly. "Could you come to see me this afternoon at four o'clock? I shall know then whether the plan I have in mind can be carried out."

"I will come," promised the woman eagerly, her eyes kindling with happy light. "I thank you for your kindness." Her voice trembled with gratitude. She rose to go, looking as though she would like to say more but could not find words in which to express herself.

"You are quite welcome. I will try very hard to place her," was Grace's parting assurance.

After the woman, who had introduced herself as Ida Ward, had gone, Grace went slowly upstairs and into her pretty sitting-room. She looked long and fixedly at each attractive appointment, then she walked on into the bedroom, which she and Emma shared, and surveyed it with the same searching gaze. "I can't do it unless Emma is willing," she murmured. "I dislike asking her after inviting her to share my suite. Still, we've always been frank with each other. I'll tell her the exact circumstances as soon as she comes home to luncheon, and let her decide what we had better do." Having determined upon her course of action Grace went downstairs again and was soon deep in the laying-out of next week's menu for Harlowe House, a task in which she had been engaged when Miss Ida Ward was announced.

It was now two weeks since Overton College had opened. The thirty-two applicants for places in Harlowe House had, without exception, passed through the trying ordeal of their entrance examinations with varying degrees of success, but not one had actually failed. They had come into the house, which was their Open Sesame to college, in twos and threes. Few of them were pretty, but even the plainest of their faces bore the unmistakable stamp of intelligence that marks the scholar. The half-brooding, anxious look in young eyes and the womanly dignity, prematurely gained through hand to hand conflict with poverty, were certain indications that the girls of Harlowe House were there for earnest work and not for play.

And now a thirty-third girl was knocking at the gate for admittance to the Land of College. Grace wondered vaguely why Evelyn Ward had not come to plead her own cause. The words of Ida Ward, "I thought I might be able to manage her college fees," returned to her with disquieting force. Then she made a little impatient gesture. "Grace Harlowe, what is the matter with you? You are judging poor Evelyn Ward without giving her an opportunity to defend herself. You know nothing whatever of the Wards' affairs. There may be a dozen good reasons for Miss Ward's coming here in her sister's behalf. Don't be so suspicious. Wait until you see Evelyn Ward before you judge her."

Although Grace did not realize it she was already thinking of Evelyn Ward as a member of Harlowe House. There was no fear of refusal on Emma's part. Long acquaintance with her good-natured, easy-going classmate had taught her that Emma was equal to, if not more than a match for, almost any emergency.

"Emma would take her belongings and camp out in the hall if I asked her to," smiled Grace to herself as she went slowly downstairs to her office and, seating herself at her desk, took up the writing on which she had been engaged when her caller was announced.

She was still hard at work when the girls began to come in for luncheon, one after another, and at last she heard Emma's delightful drawl as she exchanged pleasantries with one of the freshmen who had opened the door for her.

"Oh, Emma," she called, stepping to the door of her office, "will you come in here, please? I need you."

By the time Grace had finished speaking Emma was standing in the doorway, peering owlishly at her. "Most Gracious Grace," she salaamed, "what is your majesty's magnificent pleasure with your worthless and most despicable dog of a servant?"

"I don't know any such person," laughed Grace. Then, her face sobering, she plunged into the middle of things with, "What would you say, Emma, if I were to give half of our quarters to some one else?"

"I'd say that I was lucky to have half of the half that's left," was Emma's prompt retort.

"You're a dear!" cried Grace impulsively. "I knew you were true blue. Still, I must tell you all about certain things before you decide. It's just this way, Emma." Grace began with Miss Ward's call and recounted to Emma all that had passed between herself and the stranger. Emma listened without comment until Grace had finished with, "Now tell me what you think, Emma."

"I think it is positively noble in you to be willing to give up one of your rooms," emphasized Emma. "As far as I am concerned I'm not a 'chooser.' I'm here because of that same saving grace—it's as much a part of you as your name—which is reaching out now to put one more girl in Overton. What can any strictly honorable, four-cornered person say except, 'I'm with you,' and here's my hand in seal and token of it."

"Thank you, Emma," Grace's quiet words and warm handclasp were eloquent with appreciation of her friend's unselfish viewpoint, "Suppose we run upstairs for a moment before luncheon to look around and decide which of the two rooms we can best do without. And, O, Emma, we'll have room for a thirty-fourth girl, if she happens along. I never thought of that. In the face of all that a college education will mean to this girl our personal comfort rather pales into insignificance."

"Who are we that we should revel in the fleshpots of Overton while the stranger knocks at our gates?" supplemented Emma. "Now which is it to be? Shall we say, 'good-bye beloved sitting-room, ne'er shall we behold thy like again,' or shall we bid fond adieu to the bedroom? I ask but one concession, let us reserve our nice private bathroom. It has a value above rubies."

"Of course we'll keep our bathroom. There are three others in the house of which these new girls can have the use. As long as the bathroom opens into both rooms, I shall bolt the door leading into the room we give Miss Ward. That may appear a trifle inhospitable on the surface, but I wish to keep what is left of our apartment as secluded as possible," ended Grace, opening the door into the sitting-room. "Now, which shall it be, Emma?"

Emma prowled contemplatively about the suite, her hands in her coat pockets, her glasses pushed far over her nose. Finally she paused before Grace. Settling her glasses at their proper angle she said earnestly, "I don't wish to seem selfish, Grace, but really I think you are entitled to the sitting-room. It's larger and lighter. It's more attractive in every way. I am not thinking of myself in this matter, I am thinking of you. You are the brains and brawn of Harlowe House, therefore you must be made comfortable if you are to do good work here. The other room is easily large enough to accommodate two girls. It is larger than the rooms we occupied at Wayne Hall."

"I know it." Grace strolled reflectively through the open bathroom door and on into the bedroom. When she returned, she had decided. "You are right, Emma. I don't believe it would be selfish to keep this room. Now how shall we furnish it?"

"Don't ask me to decide that," protested Emma. "I feel as though I ought to pack my belongings and go to one of the faculty houses, Grace. It isn't fair to you for me to stay here and be a cumberer of your room."

"Emma Dean, if you do!" Grace caught Emma by the shoulders and proceeded to shake her.

"Wait! Stop!" implored Emma. "My glasses! And lenses cost money!"

"Will you stay?" demanded a relentless voice. The shaking continued, but gently.

"I will. That is, I'll have to, or pay the oculist."

Grace's hands fell from Emma's shoulders.

"I didn't want to pack and go," confessed Emma, "but I was trying to be as fair to you as you are to every one else."

"It wouldn't be one bit fair in you to leave me. You promised to see me through, you know," reproached Grace.

"So I did, and so I will," declared Emma, "I take back all I said. From now on I am as much of a fixture here as the kitchen range or the window seat."

Grace laughed at Emma's absurd declaration. "I couldn't let you go, Emma. You are too good a comrade. Now let me think. I'll have my dressing table brought in here, but, in order to make a combination sitting and sleeping room of this, we will have to buy a couch bed. The davenport there is a bed too. We'll put it across that corner, and have the couch against that wall. We'll have to keep the dressing table. We can't avoid that. I don't know what to do with my bed. It is three-quarter size. I selected it purposely, so that I'd have room for two of the girls at a time if they dropped in unexpectedly. I don't like to sell it. It matches the set."

"Why not leave it in the other room," suggested Emma. "If girl number thirty-four never materializes then Miss Evelyn Ward can occupy the whole bed, if she chooses."

"But suppose we do admit another girl?"

"Sufficient unto the day, etc.," shrugged Emma. "When she appears, then let the committee take action."

"I'll buy a smaller dressing table to match the bed, if I can, and a chiffonier. I can't quite give mine up to this newcomer. There goes the luncheon bell. I must hurry downstairs to the kitchen to see if everything is all right."

Grace hastened down the stairs, with her friend at her heels. Emma went directly to the dining-room and took her place at the table laid for two at the lower end of the room. This table belonged exclusively to her and Grace. The dining-room at Harlowe House had been furnished after the fashion of a pretty little tea shop at which Grace had often lunched in New York. The walls were done in white with a faint blue and silver stripe. The ceiling was white with a decoration of deep blue corn flowers. The floor was covered with a thread and thrum rug in blue and white, and instead of two long tables there were several small ones which seated from four to six persons. In the middle of each table was a vase of flowers, and the effect of the whole room was dainty and homelike. Grace had spent much thought on the dining-room. The buffet, serving tables, tables and chairs were white, and the silver, linen and various other appointments had been carefully chosen.

"I wish the girls to feel that this room is a place where they can eat and be merry. It is in the dining-room that they will first become acquainted with one another," Grace had said to Mrs. Gray while they were choosing the dining-room furniture. "I like the idea of having the small tables. The girls can talk quietly and confidentially, if they choose. Besides it looks so cosy and informal."

As Grace ate her luncheon that day her eyes wandered to the various tables. She was speculating as to where she would seat Evelyn Ward. Already she thought of her as one of her girls.

At precisely four o'clock the door bell rang and the maid ushered Ida Ward into the living-room. Her large eyes were wide with anxiety and suspense as she sat nervously on the edge of her chair, trying to appear composed. She tried to answer Grace's reassuring smile, but her anxious eyes belied her wanly-smiling lips.

"I have good news for you, Miss Ward," said Grace brightly. "I have made room for your sister. When may I expect her?"

Ida Ward's lips moved, but she made no sound. Then, to Grace's consternation, she covered her face with her black-gloved hands and began to cry quietly. For an instant Grace sat in embarrassed silence. She hardly knew what consolation to offer this poor, pale woman who looked as though she carried the burdens of the world upon her slender shoulders. Before she could think of anything to say, Miss Ward suddenly raised her head, wiped her eyes and said quietly, "Forgive me for crying. I—am a little tired. I was rather overcome by the good news."

"Suppose we have tea in the living room," was Grace's kindly suggestion. "What time does your train leave? By the way, I don't think I know where you live."

"We live in Burton, a little town about two hundred miles from here, with a population of six thousand people. I am a dressmaker. There are only Evelyn and I, and I am fifteen years older than she. Mother died when she was born. Father died only a year later and I have taken care of her all her life. She is very beautiful. One of the prettiest girls I have ever seen, and so clever." The plain face lighted as she described Evelyn.

"How she loves her pretty sister," thought Grace.

Over the tea, dainty sandwiches and cakes, Ida Ward became quite cheerful. When half an hour later she rose to take her leave, she looked really happy. "How can I thank you for what you have done for Evelyn?" she asked tremulously, her lips quivering. "My little sister will be so glad. I am sure she can't help being happy in this beautiful house."

"Send her to us as soon as you can," advised Grace. "College has been open for over three weeks and she will have quite an amount of work to make up. This is Monday. May I expect her on Thursday?"

"Yes, she can leave Burton early Thursday morning. There is a train which reaches here at two o'clock in the afternoon."

"Very well. I will send some one to meet her," promised Grace.

During the next two days Grace and Emma accomplished their moving so quietly that no one in the house knew of the new member the morrow was to bring. When everything had been put in place Emma declared cheerily that they would never miss the other room.

At the last moment Grace decided to go in person to the train to meet Evelyn. The memory of Ida Ward's white patient face haunted her. For her sake her beloved sister should be cordially welcomed. Grace felt the deepest respect and sympathy for the older sister.

"Miss Ward said her sister was very pretty," reflected Grace, then she looked a trifle dismayed. She had received absolutely no other description of the girl she was to meet. She did not know whether Evelyn Ward was short or tall, stout or thin, dark or fair. "I'll simply have to use my eyes and guess," was her mental comment, as she walked briskly along the station platform just as the train whizzed down the track. Her alert eyes scanned the nearest car steps where the porter was helping a crotchety old man to the platform. Behind him, came a stout middle-aged woman and two children. Grace scanned the next set of steps. Then, far up the platform she saw a tall, slender, blue-clad figure walking toward her at a leisurely pace. The girl carried a small handbag and a suit case. When she came directly opposite Grace she paused, then, after a deliberate survey, walked forward with outstretched hand. "Aren't you Miss Harlowe?" she asked sweetly. "If you are, I am Evelyn Ward."



CHAPTER XI

EVELYN WARD, FRESHMAN

Grace found herself looking into one of the most perfect faces she had ever seen. Evelyn Ward was a blonde of the purest type. Her thick golden hair lay in shining waves under her small, smart blue hat. Her eyes were deeply, darkly blue with purple depths, while her skin had the sheen and texture of pale pink rose leaves. Her small, straight nose, softly-curved red mouth and delicately-arched dark eyebrows added to the tender beauty of her face. To Grace she came as a revelation, and, so far as she could remember, she had never seen any other blonde girl who approached this one in loveliness.

"How do you do, Miss Ward? I am glad to know you," she said, offering her hand. She noticed that the slender hand that Evelyn put forth to meet hers was very soft and white. It had evidently done no hard work and was in sharp contrast to the rough, work-worn hands of her sister.

"I'm sure I am pleased to know you, Miss Harlowe, and very thankful to you for arranging for my coming to Overton. I would have cried my eyes out with disappointment if Ida had come home with bad news," returned the pretty girl in a plaintive tone which impressed Grace with a curiously uncomfortable feeling that this attractive young woman would have done nothing of the sort. There was that indefinable something about her that contradicted, flatly, the idea of tears.

"Your sister was an eloquent pleader, Miss Ward. I would have made an even greater effort than was necessary to place you, if only to please her. I was greatly impressed with her unselfishness and nobility of character," Grace made reply.

An expression of amusement showed itself on Evelyn Ward's face. "Ida is a perfect old dear," she agreed lightly. "She takes life too seriously, though. She worries over every little thing. Still her very seriousness makes a good impression. She has ever so many friends; a great many more than I." She shrugged her shoulders, as though to convey the fact that the latter state of affairs did not trouble her.

"As your luggage is not heavy, we might walk to Harlowe House," suggested Grace. "This glorious fall weather is ideal for walking. Let me take your suit case."

"With pleasure. It's altogether too heavy for comfort. Are there no street cars or busses we can take? I like to walk, but not when I have luggage to carry."

"We can take a car or an automobile bus if you like," said Grace courteously, although she experienced a vague sense of annoyance at this newcomer's calmly expressed preference.

"Oh, let's take the automobile, if it isn't too expensive!" exclaimed Evelyn eagerly. "I love to ride in an automobile. Are there any girls at Overton who own cars? If there are I shall certainly cultivate them. I suppose they won't notice me, though, because I am a freshman and a poor one at that," she ended with a pout, her fair face taking on almost sullen lines.

Grace shook her head.

"Being poor doesn't count at Overton," she said, "I know a girl who lived in a bare, cheerless room in an old house in the suburbs of Overton and earned her way by doing mending for the students. She worked in a dressmaker's shop during her summer vacations too, and yet she was the chum of the richest girl in college."

"Why didn't the rich girl help her if she thought so much of her?" inquired Evelyn rather sarcastically.

"Because the girl wouldn't allow her to do so. She was too independent to accept help. She did not wish to become obligated to any one, not even her dearest friend."

"Foolish girl," was Evelyn's contemptuous comment. "If one can't ask occasional favors of one's friends one might as well have none. I am very sure that I would take the goods the gods provide without murmuring. These extreme standards of ethics and honor are all very pretty in books, but not at all practical in every-day life."

Grace made no reply. She was lost, for the instant, in a maze of disagreeable reflection. She was afraid she now understood only too well why Ida instead of Evelyn Ward had come to see her. In the Ward family the hard tasks had apparently been thrust upon the patient elder sister, while the younger reaped where she had not sown, without a conscientious qualm. And it was for this beautiful, selfish girl that she and Emma had curtailed their comfort. She almost wished she had been firm in her first refusal to consider taking another girl into Harlowe House. Then a vision of Ida Ward's thin face, lighted by two pleading eyes, rose before her. With an inward rebuke for her own grudging attitude, Grace squared her shoulders and resolved to look for only the best in this latest arrival.

It took but a moment to hail an automobile bus which had just run into the station yard, and they were soon on their way to Harlowe House. Grace pointed out to Evelyn the various interesting features of Overton. They impressed the latter but little.

"It must be a sleepy old town," she commented, as they passed through the quiet streets. She did, however, evince some slight interest in Vinton's, remarking lightly that she supposed she would never have money enough to buy a dinner there for herself, let alone ever inviting a guest.

"Do not look at your college life through such pessimistic spectacles," advised Grace. "You will be sure to be unhappy."

Evelyn made a pettish gesture. "You remind me of my sister, Miss Harlowe. She is forever preaching patience and optimism and all the other virtues in which I seem to be lacking."

A bright flush rose to Grace's cheeks at this unparalleled rudeness. She cast a quick, curious glance at Evelyn, whose eyes were for the second fixed upon the campus which they were now nearing, and who appeared to be utterly oblivious of her impertinence.

"This is the campus." Grace decided to overlook the pointed remark. "We are justly proud of Overton College and the campus."

"It is really beautiful," nodded Evelyn, "but I'm going to tell you a secret. I'm not the least little bit enthusiastic over college. I'd rather go to a dramatic school and study for the stage. It is Ida who insists upon my going to college. Thank goodness, I'm not a dunce. It would be dreadful to be forced into college and then be too stupid to learn anything, wouldn't it?"

"It would indeed," agreed Grace.

"I suppose my stage aspirations shock you, Miss Harlowe," went on Evelyn, "but I can't help saying what I think."

"My dearest woman friend is an actress," returned Grace quietly.

"Oh, is she really?" Evelyn's voice rose high with excitement. "What is her name? Perhaps I've heard of her."

"Anne Pierson."

"I should say I had heard of her. She is one of the great stars. She is with Everett Southard, isn't she? I've seen their pictures in the magazines."

"She graduated from Overton last year. We were roommates throughout our four years here. She is from my home town."

"Really and truly?" demanded Evelyn impulsively. "That's the most interesting piece of news I've heard for a long time. Will you tell me all about her some time, Miss Harlowe?"

"With pleasure," returned Grace. "It can hardly be to-day, however, for here we are at Harlowe House."

"What a darling house!" praised Evelyn as they alighted from the automobile. "I am sure I shall like to live in it."

"I hope that you will be happy here," returned Grace kindly. After all it might be better not to take this self-willed young woman too seriously. She had, at least, the virtue of truthfulness. She was entirely frank in the expression of her opinions. She might have many other redeeming qualities which would quite overbalance the disagreeably self-centered side of her character.

Evelyn gazed about in open approval as they ascended the steps of Harlowe House. As they passed through the hall she peeped into the living room and exclaimed in admiration of its attractive appointments. Her voluble appreciation of her own room pleased Grace, who realized that Evelyn's personality was singularly fascinating and that she could be exceedingly gracious when she chose.

"I will leave you now," said Grace, after a little further conversation. "The dinner bell rings at six o'clock. If you need anything, or wish to ask any questions, you will find me in my office downstairs. It is rather too late in the day for you to see the registrar. To-morrow morning will be time enough. You are lucky to be exempt from examinations."

Grace had hardly established herself in her office when Emma Dean came breezily in from her work. "Well, Gracie," was her cheery greeting, "has she materialized, and is she as pathetic and persistent as Sister Ida?"

Grace made a little gesture of resignation. "Prepare for the surprise of your college career, Emma."

"Didn't she come?" demanded Emma, "That wouldn't surprise me. People are forever promising to arrive on a certain train and then strolling in several days later with the barefaced announcement that the time table had been mysteriously changed."

"She arrived," stated Grace.

"Then wherein lies the surprise?"

"Emma," said Grace solemnly, "Evelyn Ward is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, and, if I am not mistaken, one of the most selfish. She is no more like her sister than I am like Dr. Morton, and she is going to require more looking after than any other girl in Harlowe House."



CHAPTER XII

THE HARLOWE HOUSE CLUB

"There!" Grace Harlowe laid down her pen and scanned the notice she had just finished writing. "I'll post this now. The girls will see it this morning and again when they come in to luncheon. Then they will be sure to meet me in the living-room before dinner. I hope they will like our plan."

"They ought to like it," replied Emma Dean. "It makes them a self-respecting, self-governing body."

"That is precisely what I wish them to be," responded Grace, in all earnestness. "I believe that being members of Semper Fidelis was of great benefit to us. Oh, Emma, did I tell you that Mr. Bedfield's gift to Semper Fidelis is now an endowment? He called to see me on Friday for the express purpose of telling me that he has arranged the matter with Professor Morton. The money is to be known hereafter as the Semper Fidelis endowment. He said he felt certain that we had not handed the society down to this year's classes. He couldn't imagine any other young women in our places. Wasn't that nice in him?"

"Very nice and very true," agreed Emma. "I am of the same mind. The Sempers can never be imitated, passed on to the next class, nor replaced. They are in a class all by themselves."

"The purpose of this new club which I propose to organize will be one of welfare. The girls will do more for themselves as a self-governing body than I can possibly do for them. By the way, I wonder if Miss Ward is up yet. She overslept and missed her first recitation yesterday morning. She came down to the dining-room long after breakfast was over. Susan was rather upset over having to serve an extra breakfast. I was obliged to tell Miss Ward that if it occurred again she would have to abide by the consequences of her own tardiness. I can't impose upon the servants to please a girl who has no thought for any one except herself."

Grace spoke rather bitterly. Her early disappointment in Evelyn Ward had deepened as the time passed.

"I don't hear a sound from her room," commented Emma, who sat before the dressing-table brushing her long hair. With hair brush poised in the air she listened intently. "She is dead to the world."

"Then I'll have to waken her," sighed Grace.

Stepping out into the hall she knocked lightly on Evelyn's door. Receiving no response she knocked again, this time with more force.

"Come in," called a sleepy voice.

Grace turned the knob. Sure enough, Evelyn lay comfortably back on her pillow, her wonderful golden hair falling in long, loose waves about her. Her beauty now made little impression upon Grace, who knew only too well the tantalizing, troublesome spirit that lay behind it. "It is almost eight o'clock, Miss Ward. Remember, breakfast is over at nine."

"I know it," responded Evelyn with maddening sweetness. She eyed Grace speculatively, but made no effort to rise.

Without further words Grace closed the door. She did not wish to betray her annoyance. She had experienced a wild desire to march over to the bed and drag the complacent freshman forth from it by the shoulders.

When Evelyn descended to the dining-room she found that most of the girls had eaten breakfast and gone off to chapel. Happening to recall that she had not attended the morning services for a week, and with visions of her unsigned chapel card staring her in the face, she ate a hurried breakfast and was about to depart when her eyes happened to rest upon the bulletin board in the hall around which were gathered several girls. Pausing, Evelyn read Grace's notice. It asked the members of Harlowe House to be in the living room at five o'clock that afternoon for the discussion of a most important subject.

"I wonder what it is," said Nettie Weyburn, lively curiosity overspreading her usually placid face.

"I think I know," volunteered Mary Reynolds. "Miss Harlowe was telling me only last night that she wishes to organize a club of just Harlowe House girls, with a president and other officers. The club will have a constitution and by-laws and every member will have to live up to them."

"Wouldn't that be splendid?" asked Cecil Ferris, a gray-eyed, black-haired freshman who made up in energy what she lacked in height.

"Who would be president I wonder," murmured Evelyn, shooting a glance of apparent innocence about the circle.

"You'd make a good president, Miss Ward," declared Mary Reynolds, in open admiration. To her beauty-loving little soul Evelyn was the most exquisite person in the world.

"I," cried Evelyn in well-simulated amazement. "I wouldn't attempt to be, I am not clever or popular enough."

"I believe you would be the very one. You are so independent and know just how to do things." Now that Mary had suggested it, it met with Nettie Weyburn's placid approval. Cecil Ferris echoed it. She, too, had fallen under the spell of Evelyn's beauty.

"I must run along or be late to chapel," murmured Evelyn modestly, and hurried off at precisely the wisest moment to further her own cause. The ambition to become the president of the proposed club had sprung into life in her self-centered young soul as she stood reading the bulletin, and she determined that she would leave nothing undone to obtain the honor.

At luncheon that day she took particular pains to be unusually friendly to every one with whom she came in contact, exhibiting a gay graciousness of manner toward a number of girls she had secretly labeled, "digs, prigs and plodders." This quite won their trusting hearts and made them innocently wonder how they had, so far, happened to miss becoming really well acquainted with Miss Ward.

When at five o'clock the big living room began to fill, Evelyn was among the first there, with a dazzling smile for all comers. At ten minutes past five the thirty-three girls who claimed Harlowe House as their home were sitting or standing expectantly about the room, waiting for Grace, who stood at one end of the room with Emma, to call the meeting to order and enter upon the discussion of that "most important subject."

"I have asked you to come here this afternoon because I believe the time has arrived to try out a plan which I have had in my mind ever since college began," stated Grace, by way of beginning. Then in clear, concise sentences she told of her desire that her girls should be self-governing and of how much good fellowship their banding themselves together would create. "I thought, if you approved of the plan, we might elect our officers at once, and appoint a committee to draw up the constitution and by-laws. I am going to ask you to talk it over among yourselves for ten minutes, while Miss Dean and I prepare some balloting slips," she concluded, and at once a loud buzz of eager conversation began.

It was fifteen minutes before Grace again called the meeting to order, and appointed four tellers, who distributed ballots. Then nominations were in order.

"I nominate Miss Ward for president," proposed Cecil Ferris.

"I second the motion," came from Mary Reynolds.

Grace could hardly control the surprise in her voice, when, after waiting a little, she asked: "Are there any further nominations?" "I nominate Miss Sampson," called a small pale girl from her perch in the window seat, with a fond smile in the direction of her roommate. Another girl seconded the nomination, and it was then moved and seconded that the nominations for president be closed. The nomination for vice-president, secretary and treasurer were then in order and after they were closed the voting began.

"Well, of all things," whispered Emma to Grace, who sank into the chair beside her friend, a peculiar expression on her fine face. "I never dreamed of matters taking that turn, did you?"

Grace shook her head. It had indeed come as a shock. She had thought of the club as a novel and possible means of bringing the Harlowe House girls into a closer relationship with one another. She had never considered the possibility of Evelyn being president of the club. It was evident that her nomination had come about through admiration of her undeniable beauty. She was absolutely unfit for any such office. Grace hoped, devoutly, that Miss Sampson, a tall, capable young woman, with a likable personality and a cheery, hearty manner of speaking, would be elected.

Emma made no further remark, but watched the tellers with calculating eyes. At last one of them, who had been industriously making notations on a sheet of paper, rose to announce the results of the election.

"The total number of votes cast for president was thirty-three. Of these Miss Ward received twenty-nine"—an enthusiastic clapping of hands sounded—"Miss Sampson four." She then went on to read the result of the balloting for the other three officers. Nettie Weyburn had won the vice-presidency, Cecil Ferris had been chosen secretary, while quiet little Mary Reynolds had been made treasurer. The reading of each name elicited its quota of applause, but it was plain that, of the four officers, Evelyn was, by far, the greatest favorite. After appointing a committee of four girls to assist her in drawing up the constitution and by-laws, Grace said pleasantly: "Will the new officers please come forward so that we can all see you. You must be formally introduced, you know."

The newly elected officers rose from their various positions which they occupied in the room and advanced to where Grace stood. About Evelyn Ward's red lips played a smile of suppressed triumph as she shook the hand Grace offered her and listened to the former's sincere wish for her success. For an instant the gray eyes studied the perfect face gravely, as though trying to penetrate what lay behind its smiling mask. Then Grace turned to greet the vice-president, just in time to miss the mocking flash which lighted Evelyn's blue eyes.



CHAPTER XIII

PLANNING FOR THE RECEPTION

The committee on the constitution and by-laws for the new club met the very next evening and drew up a terse little document setting forth their object in banding themselves together. Grace had already made note of the few rules she wished the girls to observe, but, so far as possible, she wished the committee to draw up their own regulations, subject to her approval. To create a spirit of independence and self-confidence in the girls of Harlowe House had been Grace's basic motive. She realized that many of them were hampered with an undue sense of gratitude which made them too humble for their own interest. She purposed to make them self-reliant and free. Therefore the rules which she herself made were few and sensible, relating chiefly to the care of rooms, the entertaining of guests and the problems which, if not properly handled, were the most likely to cause friction among so many young women of so many different dispositions.

"But what are we to do about money, Miss Harlowe?" asked Mary Reynolds in a plaintive tone, when the question arose of whether the club should be assessed for dues, and Grace spoke against it. "Of what use is it to have a treasureless treasurer?"

The committee set up a unanimous giggle.

"That is really a serious question," smiled Grace, "and one which the girls will have to decide for themselves. I should not wish any girl to feel that she were obliged to contribute money to the club, even for dues. We are not obliged to conform to any particular set of rules. Our club can be a purely informal organization with no obligations attached to it."

"But it would be splendid to have a little money in the treasury," interposed Louise Sampson. "I know what we can do," she went on eagerly. "Let us make the dues a dollar a year, and pledge ourselves to earn that sum. Any one who feels that she can neither earn nor give a dollar can be a member of the club just the same. Then we could give entertainments or concerts or something and start a little fund of our own."

Grace's gray eyes sparkled. Louise Sampson was a girl after her own heart. "Then you must ask your president to call a meeting. She can instruct the secretary to post a notice on the bulletin board," she advised.

The committee seized upon Louise's plan with avidity.

"Why can't we post a notice and have done with it?" asked Cecil Ferris innocently.

"Because we have just made a law that the president shall be notified of proposed meetings and shall post a bulletin to that effect," reminded Grace.

The girls remained for another hour, discussing their plans and reconstructing their by-laws previous to voting on them. It was decided to have a weekly meeting to take place on each Tuesday between five and six o'clock in the afternoon, but a special meeting might be called at any time at the request of a member, but at the president's discretion.

"The last clause in that by-law is unfortunate," criticized Emma, when, in the privacy of their room that night, Grace went over with her friend the club rules as she had set them down.

"I know what you mean." Grace gave an impatient sigh. "Still, as president of the club Miss Ward must be consulted about things. You think she is likely to refuse to call a meeting at the request of a member, if she happens to be so inclined, don't you?"

"I do, and she will," prophesied Emma. "I wouldn't lose any sleep over it, Gracie, but still it's a good plan to be prepared in advance for the beauteous Evelyn's vagaries. To change the subject, I have heard very little mention made of the sophomore reception in the house. I wonder if it is because some of the girls have no evening gowns?"

Grace sat up in her chair, with a start of surprise. "Really, Emma, I had forgotten all about the reception. I suppose it slipped my mind because it is to be held so much later this year on account of repairing the gymnasium. It will hardly be over until Thanksgiving will be upon us, and then, oh, joy! we'll see the dear old Sempers. I must see if there is anything I can do to help the girls get ready for it. I hope they understand that their summer dresses will do nicely."

For the next three days Grace made it a point to inquire tactfully into the reception plans of the Harlowe House girls. She discovered that Emma's conjecture had been only too correct. The bare mention of evening gowns had intimidated them, and, worse still, only three or four of them had been especially invited by sophomores. This was partly accounted for by the fact that, while the sophomore class was large, it was completely outnumbered by the entering class. Remembering that the same state of affairs had prevailed when she had entered Overton as a freshman, Grace proceeded to make a round of calls which began with the members of the reception committee, and included Violet Darby, Myra Stone, Laura Atkins, Mildred Taylor, Patience, Kathleen and others of the upper classes whom she knew well, though not intimately. The reception committee had expressed their absolute willingness to allow the upper class girls to help them out on escort duty and the girls themselves entered heartily into the plan.

"I'll walk over to Harlowe House with you now and invite Mary Reynolds," declared Kathleen West, who was the last girl on Grace's list. "I'm glad to have the opportunity. What a bright little thing Mary is! She is quick as a flash when it comes to grasping an idea. I tell her she has the making of a good newspaper woman in her."

"She is Emma's star pupil in English. Emma says she writes the most original themes."

"She has all sorts of queer fancies about people and things," went on Kathleen. "I can't begin to tell you, Grace, how glad I am to be of some help to her. I must do something to make up for lost time." A faint color tinged Kathleen's pale face.