"You are doing a great deal for Mary Reynolds, Kathleen. She loves you dearly!"

"It certainly is nice to be liked," returned Kathleen softly. "If it hadn't been for you and Elfreda and Patience I would have gone on in the same hard, selfish spirit in which I began college."

"As it is, you are one of the literary lights of Overton, and a joy to your friends," said Grace gayly. "I wish you were at Harlowe House this year with Emma and me."

"I wish I were," sighed Kathleen, "but I didn't feel that it would be fair to apply for admission there. You see, Grace, my salary on the newspaper, during the summer, is a generous one, and, by managing carefully, I can pay my expenses in college for the year with it. I don't have to do that, however, for every week I write a story for the Sunday edition of our paper which more than pays my board at Wayne Hall. Then I send in extra space articles and go out on special stories during the Christmas and Easter vacations. I am never really very short of money, so I'm not eligible as a member of your household."

"You are a clever, capable girl, Kathleen," averred Grace, with honest admiration, "and I am proud to be your friend."

A long look of perfect understanding passed between the two. It had come only after many days of misunderstanding and doubt.

"Dear Loyalheart, I can never forgive myself for making you so unhappy," Kathleen's crisp tones trembled.

"And I shall never forgive you if you mention it again," retorted Grace. "You mustn't recall such things. I am enough of a believer in destiny to feel that we had to go through a kind of probation period before we were ready to be friends."

"It's dear in you to say so, Grace, but I know myself, and how contemptibly I behaved. I've been determined to say this to you ever since I came back to college, but you have never given me the least chance until now."

"'Loyalheart' was the highest proof of your regard you could have given me," reminded Grace gently. "I don't need any other reminders. I must go, Kathleen. Did I hear you say you were going with me?"

"Yes."

Kathleen slipped into her hat and coat, and, as they went down Mrs. Elwood's familiar stairs and strolled out into the crisp autumn air, arm in arm, Kathleen felt that she could never be thankful enough to the girl who had taught her the true meaning of college spirit.



CHAPTER XIV

A DISQUIETING THOUGHT

When half way across the campus the two young women encountered Evelyn Ward. The cold crisp November air had deepened the pink in her cheeks to living rose. Her violet eyes fairly blazed with light and sparkle, and her wonderful golden hair peeped in fascinating little curls from under her gray velour hat. She wore a three-quarter length gray coat, cut in the smartest fashion, and a passing glance at her would have left one with the impression that she was in affluent circumstances.

"How can a girl who can't afford to pay her college expenses wear such smart clothes?" was Kathleen's appraising comment after they had passed Evelyn, who nodded to them in condescending fashion.

"Her sister, Ida, makes them. She told me so when she came here to ask me to take Miss Ward into Harlowe House. She is a very pretty girl, isn't she?"

Kathleen nodded. "How are things at Harlowe House?" she inquired irrelevantly.

"Going beautifully. I told you about our club didn't I?"

"Not a word. I haven't seen you for a week."

The newspaper girl listened interestedly to Grace's account of the club. "It would make a good story for my paper," she commented. "How about it, Grace?"

"You're welcome to it if the girls don't object. Suppose you come as a guest to our next meeting and ask their permission."

"I'll do it," promised Kathleen.

Mary Reynolds received and accepted Kathleen's invitation to the reception with unmistakable joy. Grace had sent home for a pink silk evening gown, which she had worn but little, and fairly forced it, with slippers, stockings and gloves, upon the reluctant Mary, with the plea that pink was not her color and therefore she never wore the frock. Aside from shortening it, it had needed little alteration, and when the night of the sophomore reception arrived, Kathleen appeared, an hour before the time to start for the dance, to help Mary dress. She brought a cluster of pinky-white roses and a pink chiffon scarf, which, she diplomatically insisted, did not go well with any of her gowns and exactly matched Mary's.

"I can't believe that I am I," Mary said happily, as she viewed herself wonderingly in the round dressing-table mirror. She clasped her thin, childish hands impulsively together. "I wish every girl in the world had such good friends and pretty clothes as I have!"

"I hope no one has such elusive hooks and eyes on their clothes as I have," grumbled Emma Dean, who had appeared in the doorway in time to hear Mary's heartfelt remark. "I have permanently dislocated one shoulder and ruined the charming curves of both my elbows forever, in a vain, but valiant, effort to unite one miserable hook and eye, which I'm sure the dressmaker purposely sewed out of my reach."

"Poor Emma," sympathized Kathleen. "Let me help you."

Emma surrendered herself to Kathleen's deft fingers with a ludicrous gesture of resignation.

"Are all the Harlowe House girls going?" asked Kathleen.

"Yes; thanks to the juniors and seniors, not one has been left out. It is such a clear, pleasant night the campus house girls won't need carriages," answered Grace. "It is eight o'clock now. Don't you think you had better start? You go on with the girls, Emma. I'll run over some time during the evening for a few minutes."

After the merrymakers had set out for the gymnasium, Grace retired to her office to write a letter to her mother. She had hardly settled herself when the door bell rang and she heard a high, clear voice asking the maid for Miss Ward.

"Please tell her to hurry, my car is waiting," instructed the voice, as the maid ushered the newcomer into the living-room. Grace glanced through the open door of the office into the next room. In Evelyn's escort she recognized Althea Parker, one of the most snobbish girls at Overton College, and a member of the sophomore class. Evelyn's declaration on her arrival at Overton that she intended to cultivate the richest girls in college now came back to Grace with disagreeable force.

"Good evening, Miss Harlowe," hailed Althea, as Grace rose and went forward to greet her. "We are going to be late. I hope Evelyn won't keep me waiting." There was a touch of impatience in her voice.

Even as she spoke there was a patter of light feet on the stairs, and Evelyn appeared in the doorway, her evening coat and scarf on her arm.

Grace gave an involuntary gasp of admiration, while Althea cried out openly, "Evelyn Ward, you are wonderful!"

Evelyn's violet blue eyes flashed with gratified vanity. She wore an exquisite gown of white silk and lace made in an apparently simple but very smart fashion, which revealed the pure beauty of her white throat and rounded arms, increasing her loveliness tenfold. She wore white silk stockings and white satin slippers with little rhinestone buckles. Her thick golden hair was drawn high on her head in a graceful knot and clustered in little curls about her temples and over her forehead, while her whole face was alive with excitement. At her corsage was an immense bunch of violets, evidently sent her by her escort.

"Shall I do?" she asked pertly, walking over to the living-room mirror for a last peep at herself.

"You look very lovely to-night," said Grace honestly.

"Thank you," she swept Grace a curtsey. A faint mocking smile played about her red lips, as though she doubted the sincerity of the remark. Slipping on her evening coat of white broadcloth, and placing an extremely handsome scarf of white and gold over her pretty head, Evelyn walked to the door, followed by Althea Parker, who, divided between admiration of Evelyn and fear of being late, was talking rapidly in her high, excited voice.

"Good night, Miss Harlowe," she nodded.

"Oh, yes, good night," called Evelyn carelessly.

Grace leaned back in her chair and smiled at Evelyn's slightly cavalier treatment of herself. "How her sister has spoiled her," she mused. "She treats me as though I were one of the maids. To see her to-night one would be quite likely to imagine that she, rather than Miss Parker, were the richest girl in Overton."

A sudden, startled look stole into Grace's eyes. "Why, where—" She paused as though she had come upon something which did not quite please her. As a matter of fact it had recurred to her with an unpleasant jolt that Evelyn was wearing an evening gown entirely too expensive for her present circumstances. So were her evening coat, her scarf and all the dainty appointments which so perfectly matched the white silk frock. Again she recalled that Ida Ward planned and made all her sister's gowns. Even so, she must have spent considerable money on Evelyn's evening clothes. Suppose these things were to be noticed and commented upon by the girls in the house, or by outsiders who knew nothing of the real source of Evelyn's wardrobe? Suppose some one were ill-natured enough to say that a girl who could afford such expensive gowns ought to be able to pay her own expenses and give her place in Harlowe House to some one more needy. Had not Kathleen asked how Evelyn could afford to wear such smart clothes?

Yet on the other hand, there was nothing to be done. Grace did not feel it within her province to take Evelyn to task on the subject of her wearing apparel. All she could do was to trust that what had perplexed her would pass unnoticed and uncriticized.



CHAPTER XV

A SEMPER FIDELIS REUNION

"O frabjous day!" rejoiced Emma Dean, using her bath towel as a scarf and performing a weird dance about the room. "I know I shall go chortling through my classes this morning in a highly undignified manner. To think that dear old Semper Fidelis will hold forth again in the same old haunts! And the most beautiful part is that there will be no vacant chairs."

Emma's delight was reflected on Grace's face. It was the morning before Thanksgiving Day and the two young women were preparing to go to breakfast, full of happy anticipation, for the various afternoon trains were to bring to them their Semper Fidelis comrades. It had all begun with Elfreda's and Mabel Ashe's promises to spend Thanksgiving at Harlowe House. Then Elfreda had persuaded Arline Thayer, whom she saw frequently in New York, to join them. Arline had written to Ruth, who had come on to New York for a long visit to her chum in time to swell the band. Elfreda had promptly written Grace that if she would see that Miriam and Anne put in an appearance at the proper moment, the Briggs Helping Hand Society would guarantee that the other members should appear at Overton on the appointed day.

"Elfreda has taken rather a large contract on her hands," Grace had said to Emma, on receiving the letter. "She evidently knows what she's doing, so I had better write to Miriam and Anne."

Miriam's promise to come had been easily obtained, but Anne was not sure of attending the Semper Fidelis reunion, until the week before Thanksgiving, when Everett Southard, who was then playing in Shakespearian repertoire in New York, obligingly arranged to give the "Taming of the Shrew" on the day before Thanksgiving, and "King Richard III" on Thanksgiving Day. As Anne did not appear in either play, her Thanksgiving freedom was assured.

And now the great day had dawned at last! There were to be recitations in the morning, but college would close at noon, not to reopen until the following Monday. The Semper Fidelis girls were to be Elfreda's guests at Vinton's that night at a six o'clock dinner. On Thanksgiving morning they were to breakfast at the Tourraine as the guests of Ruth and Arline. Thanksgiving dinner at Martell's was to be Anne's and Miriam's part of the celebration, while Thanksgiving night Emma and Grace were to be hostesses at Vinton's, their favorite rendezvous.

Grace would have dearly loved to be hostess at the Thanksgiving dinner, but she felt that her duty lay with her household. She wondered whether it would be really right for her to remain away from Harlowe House for so many meals. After long and earnest discussion, she and Emma had arranged that she would give up eating Thanksgiving dinner with her friends, while Emma cheerfully agreed to preside at the Harlowe House breakfast table on Thanksgiving morning. It was decided that Louise Sampson, of whom Grace had grown extremely fond, was the best possible person to leave in charge during their absence on Thanksgiving night, for neither Grace nor Emma felt that they could bear to miss that last gathering together of their beloved Semper Fidelis friends.

"I wonder who will be first on the scene," speculated Grace.

"Consult the time table, my child," advised Emma. "I have no time for speculation. I am starting on a hunt in darkest Deanery for my cuff links. They are tucked away in some remote corner of the Dean territory, but which corner?"

"They are in one end of your handkerchief box. I saw you put them there yesterday, you ridiculous person," laughed Grace.

"Thank you, thank you! 'One good turn deserves another,'" quoted Emma fervently. "Bring forth the fateful time table and I'll sort out the trains and the order of arrival of the clan."

"I haven't a time table," confessed Grace.

"Then we'll have to let the trains run merrily on, and the railroad do its perfect work. I'm sorry I can't pay my debt of gratitude. I am always helpful. I was always helpful. I have been helpful. I would be helpful. I might have been helpful and I may yet be helpful," conjugated Emma hopefully, "but not without a time table."

"I appreciate your splendid spirit of helpfulness even though it isn't of any use at present," assured Grace satirically. "I suppose—"

A long reverberating ring of the bell cut short her remark.

The two friends exchanged questioning glances.

"It can't be one of the girls. It's only eight o'clock," was Emma's quick comment.

Grace opened the door and listened intently. Emma joined her, peering over her shoulder. Then Miss Duncan's dignified assistant in English gave an unmistakable, though subdued, war whoop, and, seizing Grace by the hand, made for the stairs. Grace needed no assistance. An instant later they brought up at the foot of the stairs and made a simultaneous rush for a tall, plump young woman, enveloping her in a tempestuous embrace.

"I might have known you'd be the first," cried Grace with joyful affection. "You must have taken a train in the middle of the night."

"I did," returned J. Elfreda Briggs calmly. "We are living in New York this winter, so Pa brought me to the station in his own pet car and saw me safely on my way. Emma Dean, you good old comrade, how are you?" Elfreda turned from Grace to Emma.

Emma surveyed Elfreda with fond eyes. "Just now I'm overcome at seeing you, J. Elfreda. How we have missed you!" Depth of feeling for the moment checked Emma's irrepressible flow of humor. Next to Grace, in her regard, came the one-time stout girl, now merely plump and extremely attractive.

Tears flashed across J. Elfreda's eyes as she stood looking into the faces of these friends, whom she loved so truly, yet saw so seldom. "Missing people has been my greatest cross this year," she said, her voice not quite steady. "There's no use in making a fuss, though. I'm beginning to learn that."

A brief silence fell upon the three classmates.

"Have you had your breakfast, Elfreda?" asked Grace, almost abruptly.

"Are there waffles?" counter-questioned Elfreda.

"There can be. The Harlowe House kitchen boasts of waffle irons, bought with this occasion in view."

"Then I am heart and soul for breakfast," avowed Elfreda. "I ate my usual sumptuous repast of half a grape fruit and a piece of dry toast, plus one small cup of black coffee, on the train. I haven't had a waffle since I was here in August. I wonder how they would taste," she added innocently.

"You'll know before long," promised Grace. "Emma take Elfreda upstairs to our room, while I ask Sarah to make the waffles."

Half an hour later they sat around the breakfast table, a contented trio. After Emma had left them to go to her work, Grace and Elfreda had a long confidential conversation over their coffee. The noon train brought Mabel Ashe, Arline and Ruth, while from off the afternoon trains stepped Anne and Miriam, the smiling Emerson twins, Elizabeth Wade, Marian Cummings and Elsie Wilton.

It was a congenial and talkative company that, as Elfreda's guests, graced Vinton's at six o'clock dinner that night. Kathleen West, who had been prevailed upon to spend at least one Thanksgiving at Overton, instead of on duty on her paper, was one of three guests of honor, Mabel Ashe and Patience Eliot were the others. By special arrangement a table that would seat fifteen persons had been set in their favorite rendezvous, the mission alcove. Elfreda, Grace, Anne and Miriam, rejoicing in their reunion, had made a tour of the stores together that afternoon, and gleefully carrying the fruits of their shopping to Vinton's had decorated the table with flowers, ribbons and funny little favors.

The Overton girls that happened to drop into Vinton's that night smiled appreciatively at the gay little company in the alcove. A glance in that direction on the part of the upper class girls was sufficient. They knew that Semper Fidelis, the darling of the Overton clubs, was making merry. The freshmen, however, had to have matters explained to them by their friends.

"That Semper Fidelis club was the life of Overton," Althea Parker explained to Evelyn Ward. "That's one reason I asked you to come here with me to-night. I wanted you to see them together." The two were seated at a small table not far from that of the Sempers.

Evelyn made no response. Her eyes were fixed upon the mission alcove. She knew, only too well, that Althea's invitation to dinner had not been disinterested. She had learned to know that Althea was not only snobbish, but self-seeking as well. For whatever she gave she demanded value received. Evelyn had been in the living-room when Grace and Elfreda returned from their shopping. She had heard them discussing the dinner, and had lost no time in slipping on her wraps and carrying the news to Althea, who, as she had hoped, had at once invited her to dinner at Vinton's.

"Althea thinks I'll attract the attention of those girls," Evelyn had speculated shrewdly.

Meanwhile the girls in the alcove, quite unconscious of the discussion going on about them at the other tables, were in their element. One after another the dear wraiths of their Overton days were summoned, to be laughingly and lovingly reviewed, then lingeringly laid to rest again.

"Girls, do you remember the dinner we gave here after the ghost party?" asked Mabel Ashe, her brown eyes alight with mischief. "Some of you girls weren't here that night, but at least half of you were."

"I ought to remember it," declared Elfreda significantly.

"Yes, Elfreda, it was in honor of you, I believe," laughed Arline. The dinner to which Mabel referred belonged to Elfreda's freshman year at Overton.

"It was indeed," affirmed Anne Pierson. "Every one of our four years brought its own parties."

"And its own problems," supplemented Miriam.

"Of whom we were which," murmured J. Elfreda.

Every one laughed at this naive assertion.

"But we've all turned out creditably," smiled Miriam Nesbit, "thanks to our Loyalheart. She opened the way to good comradeship for me, long ago, in my high school days."

"She found my father for me!" said Ruth Denton, her eyes eloquent.

"She stood by me when I needed her most," said Anne.

"Girls, I won't—" Grace half rose from her chair, but was gently shoved into it again.

"Sit still and hear the rest of your misdeeds," commanded Mabel. "Go on, Arline."

"She helped me to be unselfish and to think of others," was Arline's sweet tribute.

"She made me over," asserted Elfreda with emphasis.

"She taught me college spirit," said Kathleen softly.

"Sara and I didn't like college and never had much fun until Grace asked us to join the Sempers," declared Sue Emerson.

"She was the first to welcome me to Overton, and has given me countless good times since then," said Patience.

"She taught me to look for the best rather than the worst, even in my enemies," declared Mabel Ashe.

Elizabeth Wade, Marian Cummings and Elsie Wilton each added their tribute.

"Girls, if you only knew how terribly this embarrasses me," pleaded Grace. "Every one of you have done the nicest sort of things for me. I think—"

"You are not allowed to think," put in Miriam. "We will do the thinking for the next two minutes. Besides J. Elfreda has something to say. Go ahead, Elfreda."

"Grace, you've heard what we all had to say about you, but there is a whole lot that we can never find words for. Each of us knows best what you've been to us, as individuals, and we all know that there will never be any other girl quite as dear, and true, and loyal as you are to us. So we decided to give our Loyalheart a loyalty token, and here it is. Hold out your arm," commanded Elfreda.



Grace held out her pretty, bare arm in obedient bewilderment. Something shining slipped over her wrist. She stared at it in fascination.

"How beautiful!" she gasped. "It can't be for me!" The bracelet was a wide band of dull gold, chased with a pattern of tiny leaves, and, at intervals, its golden circle was starred with small diamonds. It was the most expensive piece of jewelry Grace had ever owned.

"Every one of our initials is inside," informed Elsie Wilton triumphantly. Grace slipped the band off her arm and peered into it. Sure enough there were rows of tiny initials inscribed on the smooth gold.

"And now let us drink a toast to our Loyalheart and go up to the Tourraine," proposed Elfreda, after the excitement attending the presentation of the bracelet had died out. "Here's to our Loyalheart! Drink her down!"

The emptied lemonade glasses were set on the table and the party rose to go.

As they were passing out, Grace and Anne walked with linked arms, determined to make the most of their brief hour together.

"Oh, Grace, I almost forgot to ask you," began Anne, "who was that beautiful girl at the next table to the alcove? I saw you speak to her. She was with Miss Parker, that little girl of 19— who has so much money."

"That was Evelyn Ward, Anne, and thereby hangs a tale which I'll entertain you with to-morrow. One thing about her will interest you. She wants to become an actress. She thinks you are the wonder of this century. I'll introduce her to you to-morrow."

"She is beautiful," commented Anne, "and if she is really sincere in her ambition I might help her to attain her ambition."



CHAPTER XVI

THE INTERRUPTED CONFIDENCE

The days that lay between Thanksgiving and Christmas passed swiftly and uneventfully for Grace. As the holiday vacation drew near she was divided, however, between her desire to go home and her duty to Harlowe House. It was Emma Dean who finally settled the question by announcing that she did not intend to go home for Christmas and would gladly look after things during Grace's absence. The trip home was too expensive, Emma had stated frankly, and her railroad fare would be quite a help when added to the Dean housekeeping fund. Once she had made her decision to stay at Overton she began to lay plans for a happy holiday season for the Harlowe House girls, who, without exception, were also to remain in Overton for their vacation. Two days before Christmas Grace left Overton for Oakdale, with many injunctions to Emma to take things easy and to telegraph her at once if she needed her.

Once at home a round of merry parties began. True to their promise Jessica and Reddy had come back to Oakdale for Christmas. The only missing member of the Eight Originals was Anne, and the Sunday morning following Christmas Day she walked into the Harlowe's living room accompanied by Everett Southard and his sister. She could not bear to allow the holidays to pass without seeing her friends, so she and the Southards had taken the midnight train for Oakdale, determined to spend at least one day there. That evening a contented, happy company gathered at the Nesbits, as Miriam's and David's guests, at a dinner given in honor of the unexpected arrivals. After a short, but exceedingly earnest, confab in a cosy corner just off the hall, Anne and David had appeared arm in arm, and, to an accompaniment of meaning smiles, had announced their engagement. Although Miriam Nesbit was entirely unaware of it, four pairs of eyes, belonging to the feminine half of the Eight Originals had kept a lynx-like watch upon her and Everett Southard. Afterward Grace confided to Anne that she believed Miriam did like Mr. Southard a little, and it was quite plain to be seen that Mr. Southard cared for her, while Jessica and Nora were wagging their heads in secret agreement of the same belief.

Only one thing marred Grace's pleasure in being at home and that was the thought that she was making Tom Gray unhappy. Outwardly he was the same sunny, smiling Tom she had known for so many years, but there were times when the mask of cheerfulness fell away and Grace read in his eyes a look of pain and longing that caused her to reproach herself. Then her honest nature would reassert itself and she would vow never to promise to marry Tom out of sympathy. Unless there came a time when she was absolutely convinced that he meant more to her than her work she and Tom would have to go on in the same old way.

But aside from this one cloud it seemed to Grace that she had never before so fully appreciated her father and mother. "You grow dearer every minute," she assured them on her last night at home. She sat between them on a little stool, holding a hand of each. "If you don't put me out on the steps to-morrow morning with my luggage, and lock the door in my face, I know I'll never, never have the courage to go away from you. It is really a tragedy, this wanting to be in two places at once."

"Dear child," said her mother softly, while her father stroked her shining hair and wondered how he ever managed to get along without her during the long months she spent at Overton. "We hate to give you up, Gracie," he said, "but we love you all the more for your faithfulness to your work."

And that was the thought which Grace took back with her to Overton. She smiled to herself as she swung briskly through the quiet streets. Their approbation had quickened her spirit to put forth fresh effort. She felt as though she could remove mountains if they happened to rise suddenly in her path. And in this state of mental exhilaration she ran up the steps of Harlowe House and, after a second's fumbling with her latchkey, let herself in.

It was almost six o'clock in the afternoon, and the darkness of early January had settled down upon the landscape. A wet, discouraging snow, which made the streets a slush-covered menace to pedestrians, was falling, and Grace gave a soft sigh of satisfaction as she stepped into the cheery, well-lighted hall. Knowing that she was quite likely to find Emma in her room she hurried up the stairs. Her hand was on the door knob when she heard what sounded suspiciously like a sob. Grace flung open the door and rushed into her room, her face alive with concern. What could possibly have happened to make jolly, self-reliant Emma Dean cry? She exclaimed in quick surprise, however, for, other than herself, the room held no occupant. "I'm sure I heard some one crying," she murmured. She listened intently. A moment later the same doleful sound was again borne to her ears. Walking quickly into the bathroom she stood by the door that opened into Evelyn Ward's room.

"It comes from Miss Ward's room," was her second surmisal. "I wonder what I ought to do. She is so easily offended that, if I go to her, she may resent my call and think me meddlesome and interfering." Grace continued to listen uneasily to the unmistakable sounds of grief that came from the next room.

"Something serious has certainly happened. I can't stand it to hear her cry so. I'll take the risk of being misunderstood," she decided with a grim little smile.

Stepping out of her room into the hall she knocked softly on Evelyn's door, receiving no answer. Her second and rather more emphatic knock elicited a faint, "Who is there?"

"Miss Harlowe," answered Grace. "May I come in for a moment, Miss Ward?"

She heard Evelyn moving about the room for a moment, then the door was opened slowly, and with apparent reluctance on the part of the pretty freshman, who had evidently dried her tears for the time being.

"How do you do, Miss Harlowe?" she said in a queer, strained voice. "I did not know that you had returned from your vacation." She did not offer her hand to Grace. In her blue eyes lay a look of positive fear.

"I came in not more than ten minutes ago," returned Grace, stepping into the room and closing the door after her. Then with her usual directness she said, "Miss Ward, I heard you crying. I came to see if I could help you."

The look of fear in Evelyn's eyes deepened. She continued to regard Grace intently, as though trying to discover whether there could be any other motive for her visit. In spite of the effort she was making to be natural her face expressed absolute consternation.

"It—was—nothing," she stammered, at last. "I am not feeling very well."

Grace was not deceived. She knew that Evelyn was not the kind of girl to cry hysterically over a slight illness. Still she could not force this perverse young woman to tell that which she did not choose to tell.

"I am sorry you won't let me help you. Are you sure that I can't be of service to you."

"You." Evelyn laughed shortly. "No; I am quite sure that you can't be."

"Very well." Grace was about to leave the room.

"Wait a minute!" Evelyn's voice rang out sharply. "I—I—will tell you my trouble, Miss Harlowe. It's about—my college fees. I paid part of the money when I came here. My—my—sister has been very ill and can't send the rest of the money. She made a special arrangement with the registrar to make the other payment in November. I've received two notices. I don't know what to do. I can't bear to leave Overton."

"Why didn't you come to me before?" asked Grace with gentle reproach. "I can help you in this matter through the Semper Fidelis fund."

Grace went on to explain the purpose of the Semper Fidelis Club. "We lend the students the money rather than give it to them, because they like to feel that they are proceeding on a strictly business basis. It takes away the slightest idea of charity and makes the girls quite responsible for themselves."

"I see," murmured Evelyn. "But suppose I borrowed the money and then found that I couldn't return it for ever so long?"

"There is neither time limit set nor interest charged on any reasonable sum of money a girl may wish to borrow," returned Grace. "We have the utmost confidence in our borrowers. The very fact that they come to us for help is an avowal of their honesty. How much money do you wish to borrow, Miss Ward?"

Evelyn rather hesitatingly named a sum considerably in excess of that needed for her college fees. "It—will—pay my expenses for the year and leave me a little besides for emergencies," she explained apologetically. "Then poor Ida can get well and won't have to worry. I am sure I can work at something this summer and pay at least part of the money back to the club."

She swept a swift, speculative glance at Grace from under her eyelashes which quite belied her earnest tones. Grace, however, absorbed for a brief moment in her own thoughts, failed to see it. When she looked at Evelyn the latter's face bore a sweetly grateful expression that made her wonder if she had not been mistaken in her estimate of the, hitherto, troublesome freshman. Her apparent anxiety to relieve her sister of worry over financial difficulties was distinct evidence of an affection of which Grace had not believed Evelyn capable. "I have misjudged her," was Grace's thought. "She really cares for her sister."

Aloud she said, "I will write at once to Miss Thayer, who is the president of the Semper Fidelis Club, and in whose name the account stands, telling her the circumstances. Thus far we have not received many calls for help since college opened, so there is quite a little money in bank. It is during the last half of the year that we make the greatest number of loans. I am sorry that your sister has been ill. If you will give me her address I will write to her to-night."

Evelyn flushed hotly. "Oh, no, you mustn't!" she exclaimed sharply. "That is—I mean you—mustn't put yourself—to so much trouble for me," she added lamely.

"It won't be a particle of trouble," assured Grace. "I should like to do so."

Evelyn's confusion deepened. "I—can't—" she floundered.

Grace regarded her with quiet, searching eyes. But before she had time to go on from wonder at Evelyn's strange objection to her writing her sister to actual suspicion, Evelyn interposed eagerly, "I'll give you the address, with pleasure, Miss Harlowe. Wait a moment." She sprang to her open writing desk and seizing a piece of paper and a pencil wrote energetically for a moment.

"Here it is."

She laid it before Grace, who picked it up and read, "Miss Ida Ward, 320 Duverne Street, Albany, N.Y."

A puzzled frown wrinkled Grace's forehead. "I thought your sister told me she lived in Burton. I must have misunderstood her."

"So we did," put in Evelyn hurriedly, "but Ida is spending the winter with my aunt in Albany. She went there just before she was taken ill. We may never go back to Burton again to live. Of course I am not sure of that. Perhaps I can find work in a large city during my summer vacation."

"That reminds me," began Grace. "I had a talk with Miss Pierson when she was here about your going on the stage. She saw you at Vinton's, and when I told her you had stage ambitions she said she was quite sure she could find work for you during the summer in a stock company. She will try to take you with her."

"Really!" Evelyn sprang to her feet, her blue eyes glittering with excitement. "Oh, Miss Harlowe, if I could, if she would take me! I'd work so hard and pay every penny of everything I owe."

"But you don't owe anything yet," reminded Grace, smiling.

Evelyn did not answer. It was doubtful whether she heard Grace's last words. She stood perfectly still, a curious look on her beautiful face. Suddenly she said in a low, halting tone, "Miss Harlowe, if you knew how—"

A knock on the door interrupted her speech. Without finishing, she stepped to it and turned the knob. "Hello, Mary," she said indifferently.

"Oh, Miss Harlowe, I didn't know that you had come home," cried Mary Reynolds. "We have all missed you dreadfully, haven't we, Evelyn?"

"Yes," replied Evelyn in her usual indifferent fashion. Then as Grace turned to go she said sweetly, "Thank you so much for your kindness to me, Miss Harlowe."

But Grace reflected disappointedly as she went slowly into her own room that Mary Reynolds' innocent interruption had occurred just in time to prevent the establishment with Evelyn of the very footing which she had been trying all year to gain.



CHAPTER XVII

A WEEK-END IN NEW YORK

True to her promise Grace wrote to Arline Thayer that very evening concerning the sum of money which Evelyn wished to borrow, and three days later she opened a fat letter from the president of Semper Fidelis from which fell the magic slip of paper which, for Evelyn, meant the way out of her difficulties. Grace pounced with delight upon the letter and was soon deep in its contents.

"We saw Anne as 'Ophelia' last Friday night," Arline wrote. "After the play father gave a little supper for her at our house and invited the Southards, Mabel and Mr. Ashe, Elfreda, Miriam Nesbit and her brother. Miriam came to New York to visit and shop, and it is not hard to guess why her brother came with her. We were all so surprised to see her, and so delighted. She is staying with the Southards, and, Grace, I do believe Everett Southard is in love with her. It is hard to say whether she returns his love, for she doesn't manifest the slightest sign of it. Wouldn't it be splendid if they did decide to go through life together? He is so clever, and a great actor too. Mabel's lawyer has won the most difficult case he ever fought for. He has persuaded Mabel to wear his ring. Their engagement is to be announced next week. I suppose you will hear from Mabel before many days. How I wish you were here. We all miss you so. Can't you come to New York for a week end before Easter? Do try to arrange it. I have so many things to tell you. It would take an age to write them. Think it over and decide to come. With my dearest love, Arline"

Grace finished the letter with a happy sigh. She would try to manage to run down to New York for a week end. She wondered how long Miriam intended to stay in the city and she smiled faintly over Arline's comment regarding Miriam and Everett Southard. It was not news to her. Consulting the calendar that hung above the desk, she decided to go the first week in February, and began to plan her work accordingly.

In spite of her secret fears that everything was too perfect to last, not only was her varied household serene, but prospering as well. From the time the Harlowe House girls became a self-governing body the question of putting money in the treasury had been continually agitated. One way and another had been suggested, but it was not until the Christmas holidays that the inspiration had come in the shape of a most toothsome batch of caramels which Louise Sampson had descended into the kitchen and made, one snowy, blustery evening when the club had assembled in the living-room for a social session. The caramels were a signal success, and when Cecil Ferris eyed one of the delicious brown squares lovingly before popping it into her mouth, then asked reflectively, "Why couldn't we make caramels and sell them to the Overton girls?" the idea was hailed with cries of "Great," "A good idea." "We could easily sell pounds of them."

With one accord they had besieged Louise Sampson with curious questions as to how she had made the caramels and the cost of the ingredients. Louise had laughingly refused to tell her recipe.

After talking things over Louise had sworn Cecil, Mary Reynolds and one other girl to secrecy, imparted the precious recipe to them, and on the next Saturday afternoon they had made their first candy. A gay little poster, drawn by one of the girls, advertised their wares. It was tacked to one side of the college bulletin board, and by nine o'clock on Saturday night the last caramel had gone its destined way, while the success-crowned merchants counted their money and lamented because they had not made half enough caramels. From then on, caramel-making occupied the spare moments of Louise and her faithful band and the "Harlowe House Caramels" rapidly gained favor. With her usual kindly interest in the success of others Grace, on her return from the Christmas holidays, entered into the candy making with spirit and energy, doing much to help fill the rush of orders. Try as they might the caramel supply was always running out, for the students found the delicious home-made caramels quite to their taste and they grew daily more popular.

The Harlowe House girls were extremely proud of the growing fund in the treasury. One and all, with the exception of Evelyn Ward, they begged so earnestly to be initiated into the mysteries of caramel making that they were sworn to secrecy at a special meeting of the club and divided into caramel-making squads. It was also decided to make candy only twice a week, on Wednesday and Friday evenings, and set Thursday and Saturday as the days for selling the caramels, which were put up in neat half-pound and pound boxes.

But while this little enterprise was being carried on with a will Evelyn was merely an indifferent onlooker. True she belonged to one squad of the candy makers, but she usually managed to be absent when they worked. Apparently she was not interested in the financial affairs of the Harlowe House Club. For a week or more after the check from Semper Fidelis had been handed to her she had maintained toward Grace an attitude of sweet gratitude, too flattering to be wholly sincere. It had gradually disappeared, however, and the old Evelyn had come to the surface again. Although she was now careful not to offend openly, Grace felt that underneath the thin veneer of reluctant gratitude lay the old dislike which she was sure Evelyn felt for her. In spite of her efforts to judge this strange selfish girl dispassionately Grace knew in her heart that she still disapproved of Evelyn.

The first week in February found Grace looking forward to her week end in New York City. She had arranged to leave Overton on Friday at noon, and on Friday morning she opened her eyes with that feeling of exultation over something delightful just around the corner from her. Then she remembered. In a few hours she would again be with her beloved friends. She went about her work that morning humming under her breath. As she was to take the eleven-thirty train she had said a regretful good-bye to Emma before the latter went to her classes. "How I wish you were going with me, Emma," she had sighed. Emma's eyes had grown wistful for an instant, then she had launched forth into a multitude of pompous and wholly ridiculous reasons why her presence was needed at Harlowe House that made Grace laugh, and, for the time, banished the shadow from her face.

Later as she climbed into the taxicab that was to take her to the station, Emma's face, with its funny little twisted smile, rose before her, and she experienced fresh regret at leaving her behind. It was hardly fair that she should have so much and Emma so little. How bravely Emma had stepped into the breach made by her father's sudden reverse of fortune. So deep was Grace in her own thoughts that she did not realize that they had reached the station until the car came to a sudden stop and the driver stood holding open the door. Handing him her suit case and traveling bag Grace stepped out of the car, and tendering the man her fare, gathered up her luggage and headed for the station. Seating herself on one of the wooden benches inside the station, she placed her traveling effects on the floor beside her and compared her watch with the station clock. Then she rose and going to the ticket window, which had just opened, purchased her ticket and inquired as to whether the train were on time.

"Fifteen minutes late," was the brief reply.

Grace went back to her bench, and, seating herself, opened a magazine she had brought with her. She was turning the leaves interestedly when a sudden banging of the station door caused her to glance up. Her eyes were riveted in surprise upon Evelyn Ward, who, suit case in hand, hurried over to her with, "Oh, Miss Harlowe, I wonder if you would mind my going to New York with you. I am invited to Althea Parker's for the week end, but she had to go down last night. I tried to see you at Harlowe House, but you had already gone. I would have spoken to you last night about going, but I wasn't quite sure whether I could make it or not." Evelyn's tones were far from concerned.

"You are quite welcome to ride with me," returned Grace briefly. She hardly liked the situation, yet she made it a rule not to interfere with the amusements of the Harlowe House girls. When she had lived at Wayne Hall Mrs. Elwood had never questioned the comings and goings of her girls. Still Grace was not pleased with Evelyn's careless manner of passing over her evident intention to go without even informing Grace of her departure.

Once on the train the two kept up a desultory conversation. But little sympathy existed between them, and the situation grew momentarily more strained. Grace caught Evelyn taking sly peeps at the magazine which she still held. With her usual good nature, Grace hailed the boy who passed through the train with magazines and candy and bought another magazine.

"There is an article in this number which Miss Dean says is worth reading," she explained. "Keep my magazine if you like, and I'll read this."

For the next two hours not a word was exchanged. The two girls read on and on. As the afternoon began to wane Evelyn finished her magazine, took off her hat, and, leaning her head against the high green velvet back of the seat, closed her eyes. At last Grace laid aside her reading, and idly watched, with half dreaming eyes, the fleeting landscape. Occasionally her gaze wandered, in unwilling admiration, to Evelyn's lovely, tranquil face. Why was such great beauty coupled with such tantalizing perversity of spirit? was the thought that sprang unbidden to her mind.

It was long after dark when the two young women passed through the iron gates of the station to where their friends awaited them. Anne, David, Miriam and Arline stood eagerly watching for Grace. At almost the same moment Evelyn spied Althea. On seeing Evelyn's companions, Althea hurried forward in time to receive the much-coveted introduction to Arline Thayer, Anne and the Nesbits. After a brief exchange of courtesies Grace's friends bowed themselves off, gleefully escorting Grace to David's car.

Althea stared moodily after them. "I think they are awfully snobbish," she remarked resentfully. "How did you manage to get away, Evelyn?"

"Don't ask me," Evelyn made a gesture of deprecation. "All I hope is that I'm not found out. I'm glad I overheard Miss Harlowe talking last night about going to-day. If worse comes to worst, I'll say I came down here with her."

"But what if she denies it?"

Evelyn shrugged her shoulders. "Ten chances to one I shall not be missed, but if there is any trouble I'll appeal to her generosity of spirit to help me. She pretends to be so helpful, let her demonstrate her helpfulness by standing between me and Miss Sheldon."



CHAPTER XVIII

A HUMILIATING REPRIMAND

To Grace forty-eight hours with her chums seemed hardly longer than forty-eight minutes, and she found it an exceedingly difficult task to divide her time equally among them. She went directly to the Southards for dinner, and to the theater that night with David, Miriam and Miss Southard to see Everett Southard and Anne as the ill-fated king and queen in "Macbeth." To her delight she discovered that the opposite box held Elfreda, Arline, Ruth, Mabel Ashe, Mr. Ashe and Mr. Thayer, and after the play they were Mr. Ashe's guests at supper.

On Saturday the devoted little band gathered at Arline's home at nine o'clock in the morning, determined to crowd every possible bit of pleasure into the hours that were theirs. On Sunday it was Mabel Ashe who played hostess, and on Sunday night a goodly company saw Grace to the station and safely on her way.

It was eleven o'clock when she let herself into Harlowe House, and hurried upstairs, anxious to relax and be comfortable after her long ride. As she had expected, on opening the door of her room, she saw Emma, her tall, thin figure wrapped in the folds of a gay crepe kimono, seated before the table, industriously looking over, and marking, themes.

"Hello, Gracious," she caroled amiably, laying down the sheet of paper she held in her hand and making a quick dive for Grace. "I began to thing you weren't coming home to-night. How are you, and how is everybody? In spite of being fairly swamped with themes, I managed to arise in my might and make cocoa. It's in the chocolate pot and there are some extra fine Dean-made sandwiches to match. Now say, 'Emma, you are one in a million, and a cook besides.' Give me your coat and hat. Your kimono and slippers await you."

"What a dear you are, Emma," declared Grace, as she handed her wraps to Emma and began to unhook her skirt. "How I wish you had been with us. The girls were so sorry you couldn't come. Elfreda says she is going to descend upon you some Friday and carry you off for a week end, regardless of howls and protests."

Emma's expressive face lighted with whimsical tenderness. "J. Elfreda never forgets, does she? Here's your cocoa, Grace. Help yourself to sandwiches."

Seating themselves opposite each other at the oak center table, the plate of sandwiches and the chocolate pot between them, the two young women settled themselves for a talk which lasted until after midnight.

"We are setting a fearful example for our girls," remarked Grace yawning, as they finally arose to prepare for bed. "I hope we haven't disturbed Miss Ward. I haven't heard a sound from her room. She must be asleep. I wonder when she came back."

"Came back from where?" asked Emma.

"From New York City. She took the same train that I took and sat with me all the way there."

"She did!" exclaimed Emma. "That doesn't tally with what I heard in the registrar's office Friday afternoon. I'm afraid she didn't ask permission to go, Grace."

"Oh, she must have had permission!" A look of surprise, mingled with consternation, sprang into Grace's eyes.

"Did she tell you she had the joyful sanction of the registrar?" quizzed Emma.

"No—o. She made a half apology for not telling me that she was going to New York. She said she was not sure of going until the last minute. I supposed, of course, that she had permission. Why will she persist in disobeying the rules of the college?" asked Grace despairingly. "What was said in the registrar's office, Emma, or aren't you at liberty to tell me?"

"Of course I am, otherwise I wouldn't have mentioned it," declared Emma. "Friday afternoon I went over to Overton Hall to see Miss Sheldon. Just as I stepped into her office I met Evelyn coming out looking like a young thunder cloud. I wondered what had happened to upset her sweet, even disposition," Emma's tones were distinctly ironical, "and without asking any questions I soon found out. Miss Sheldon herself looked anything but pleased and said: 'That Miss Ward is the most insolent girl with whom I have ever come in contact. I refused to allow her to go to New York City for the week end and she made some extremely impertinent remarks to me. She has a condition to work off. I felt justified in refusing her.'"

"And she disregarded that refusal and went?" questioned Grace wonderingly. "We would never have dreamed of defying the registrar, would we, Emma?"

"Hardly," returned Emma. "Even Laura Atkins in her most anarchistic moods, or Kathleen West with all her thorns set, would have stopped short of that. I hope the high and mighty Evelyn won't try to drag you into this affair."

"How can she?" demanded Grace. "I had nothing to do with it."

"Yes, but you rode down to New York City on the same train and in the same seat with her. She is quite likely to tell the registrar that you countenanced her going even though Miss Sheldon didn't."

"Oh, she couldn't!" burst forth Grace.

"Why couldn't she?" demanded Emma.

Grace shook her head.

"I think you are a trifle hard on her, Emma. I know she is selfish, but I don't believe she is malicious."

"I wish I had your faith in people, Grace," said Emma sincerely. "You always believe them honest until they prove themselves villains, don't you?"

When the next afternoon, Grace received a curt note from Miss Sheldon asking her to come to her office at five o'clock, Emma's prophesy loomed large before her.

"It must be something else," reflected the troubled house mother, as she prepared for her call on Miss Sheldon. Once in the registrar's office, a quick glance at the older woman's face, set in lines of annoyance, was enough to convince Grace that Emma's conjecture had been only too true. Evelyn had in some way managed to make her a party to her disobedience.

"Good afternoon, Miss Harlowe," said Miss Sheldon stiffly. There was no trace of her usual friendly manner. "I sent for you this afternoon for the purpose of clearing up any misunderstanding you may have in regard to your authority here at Overton. The students in the various houses are in every instance subject to the rules of Overton College, and it is the purpose of the faculty to see that these rules are enforced. You have no authority to grant a student leave of absence, particularly after that permission has been refused by me."

Then there followed a further sharp reprimand to which Grace listened gravely, her calm, gray eyes never for an instant leaving Miss Sheldon's face. Something in the younger woman's composure had its effect upon the registrar, who, on first seeing Grace, had allowed her displeasure free rein. She looked searchingly into the quiet face before her and said more gently, "Perhaps I should have asked you to tell me your side of the story, before condemning you, Miss Harlowe."

Ah, so there was another side of the story! It was apparently as Emma had said.

Tears of hurt pride burned behind Grace's eyes, but they never fell. With a brave effort she steadied her voice. "I do not know what has been said to you, Miss Sheldon, but I do know that I have never given any girl at Harlowe House leave of absence from Overton. I would not presume to do so. I hope I understand the limit of my authority too clearly to overstep it."

"Then you did not take Miss Ward with you to New York City last Friday afternoon?"

"Miss Ward was with me on the train and shared my seat, but until I met her in the station I had not the remotest idea that she intended to go. I dislike to tell you this, Miss Sheldon, but since you have asked me this question I can only tell you the truth."

"I am sorry I spoke so hastily, Miss Harlowe," apologized Miss Sheldon, "but I was greatly displeased. I have sent for Miss Ward. Will you wait until she comes? You need not unless you wish to do so."

"Thank you," said Grace, a shade of offended dignity in her voice, "but I must go back to Harlowe House. It is almost dinner time. Good evening, Miss Sheldon."

Once outside Overton Hall her composure took wings and she brushed the thick-gathering tears from her eyes as she hurried blindly across the snow-covered campus in the gray twilight. She was still smarting under the hurt of the registrar's sharp words. It was unspeakably humiliating to be told that she had overstepped her authority. She had thought that Miss Sheldon knew her too well for that. It merely served to show how little one knew persons, she reflected bitterly. As for Evelyn, the angry color dyed Grace's cheeks afresh as she thought of the girl's treachery, and she made a resentful vow that Evelyn Ward should not be admitted to Harlowe House for her sophomore year.

The brisk walk across the campus in the crisp winter air cooled her anger, and by the time she had reached the house she felt her resentment, in a measure, vanishing.

"You were right, Emma," she announced as she walked into their room where Emma sat plodding laboriously through her weekly mending.

"About Evelyn?"

"Yes."

Emma finished the sleeve of the blouse she was mending with a flourish. Then, casting a swift, upward glance at Grace, she began singing dolorously.

"Mend, mend, mend, On the waist that's weary and worn. Stitch, stitch, stitch, Each tatter so jagged and torn. Collar and cuffs and sleeves, Cobble and darn and baste, Before they gape in a ghastly row, And shriek the dirge of the waist."

Grace's gloomy expression changed to a faint smile which broadened as Emma's chant went on. At the end of the verse she laughed outright.

"I couldn't be sad for long with you about, Emma," she said affectionately. "How can you think of such funny things on the spur of the moment?"

"Oh, I don't know," drawled Emma. "Tell me about everything, Gracious."

"I will," nodded Grace, "but I must run downstairs to the kitchen for a minute. I'll be back directly."

It was fifteen minutes before she returned. Emma had finished her mending and was on her knees before the chiffonier putting her waists away.

"Now I'll tell you," began Grace.

Emma turned her head to listen, but before Grace had time to begin the door was flung violently open and Evelyn Ward rushed in, her blue eyes bright with anger. "How could you tell Miss Sheldon that I didn't go to New York with you? You could have helped me and she wouldn't have said a word to Miss Wilder. Now I shall be expelled from college and it is all your fault. You are—"

At this juncture, however, Emma Dean took a hand. Without giving Grace an opportunity to say a word she marched over to the excited Evelyn. "Miss Ward, leave this room instantly, and do not come into it again until you have asked Miss Harlowe to pardon you."

In contrast to Evelyn's half-screamed denunciation Emma's voice was low and even, but it vibrated with stern command.

"I—she—" began Evelyn, but the look in Emma's eyes was too much for her. With a half-sobbing cry of anger she rushed from the room.



CHAPTER XIX

AN UNINTENTIONAL LISTENER

"Delightful young person," commented Emma dryly, as the resounding slam of the door echoed through the room.

Grace walked slowly over to the chair which she had been occupying when Evelyn had made her tempestuous entrance, and sat down. There was a brief silence, then, "Do you suppose Miss Wilder will send Evelyn home?"

"Grace, you aren't going to try to intercede for that hateful girl after this," Emma's tones quivered with vexation.

"I don't know. I suppose it wouldn't be of much use. Miss Wilder won't tolerate out and out disobedience. I—yes, Emma, I'm going to see if I can save her. I'm going now."

Grace sprang from her chair and began slipping into her wraps.

Emma eyed her moodily, struggling between approval and disapproval, but saying nothing.

"Good-bye, dear," called Grace over her shoulder as she hurried out the door. "I'm afraid I'll be late for dinner. Don't wait for me."

Outside the house she paused, glanced toward Overton Hall, then set off in the opposite direction toward Miss Wilder's home.

"I hope she's at home," was Grace's anxious thought as she rang the bell.

"Miss Wilder's in the library, miss. I'll call her," informed the maid. "Come in. It's Miss Harlowe wants to see her, isn't it?"

"Yes," Grace smiled in pleasant appreciation of the maid's remembrance of her.

"Good evening, Miss Harlowe." Miss Wilder rose to greet her unexpected visitor and offered her a chair.

Grace returned the greeting, then seated herself directly opposite the dean.

"Miss Wilder, I came to see you," she burst forth, "to ask you if there is—if you could give Miss Ward another chance. She came to me to-night and said that she was to be sent home for what happened last Saturday. I am sorry that she has put herself in such an unpleasant position, but I am more sorry still for her sister, who has made so many sacrifices to give her a college education. I never told you much about Miss Ward, Miss Wilder. Let me tell you now."

Miss Wilder listened attentively to Grace's eager outpouring.

"Miss Ward's case has not yet been settled," she said slowly. "It rests with me whether she shall remain at Overton. I will think over what you have told me. I am not prepared to give you an answer now. Come to my office at four o'clock to-morrow afternoon and bring Miss Ward with you."

"Thank you, Miss Wilder. Good night."

Feeling that there was nothing more to be said, Grace rose and held out her hand to the dean. The older woman took the hand in both of hers and looked deep into Grace's honest eyes.

"You are a true house mother," she said gently. "I know something of how greatly Miss Ward has tried your patience, and if I do decide to give her an opportunity to begin over again it will be largely because you have asked me."

When Grace let herself into Harlowe House a little later a hasty glance into the dining-room revealed the fact that dinner was over. "I'll come down and get mine after awhile," she decided, and ran upstairs to her own room.

"Well?" inquired Emma as Grace entered.

"Pretty well," retorted Grace. "I won't know positively until to-morrow. Is Miss Ward in her room?"

"She is," stated Emma, "and, judging from the sounds, packing is in full swing. I have heard her trunk lid banging frequently and wickedly, and she is opening and shutting the drawers of her chiffonier in an anything but gentle manner."

"I must see her," declared Grace.

"Then prepare to be greeted with an icy blast," predicted Emma.

The next moment found Grace knocking on Evelyn's door.

There was a rush of steps, the door was flung open and Evelyn faced her, white and defiant.

"Miss Wilder wishes you to be in her office at four o'clock to-morrow afternoon. It will be to your interest to do as she requests," stated Grace briefly. Without giving Evelyn an opportunity for speech she turned and walked down the hall to her room.

"Back so soon and no bones broken," commented Emma.

Grace laughed a little in spite of herself. "Really, Emma, this is a serious matter," she declared. "I'm not at all sure that Miss Wilder will give Miss Ward another chance."

"Don't think about it and she will. Worry over it and you'll defeat your own hope. Think about your dinner instead. It's downstairs keeping hot for you. I'll go down with you and entertain you while you eat. I have a letter from Elfreda which I've been keeping as a surprise. There is something in it that you will be glad to know."

The "something" was Elfreda's announcement that Miriam had invited her to go to Oakdale for the Easter holidays.

"That settles it, Emma, you simply must come home with me!" exclaimed Grace. "You know you delight in J. Elfreda."

"I do, I do," solemnly agreed Emma. "I'll think it over, Gracious, and if my finances can be stretched to cover my railroad fare I'll be 'wid yez.' But who will look after the Harlowites if I fold my tents like the Arabs and set sail for Oakdale?"

"I don't know yet. Louise Sampson, perhaps. She is so capable and the girls not only like her but respect her as well. I must talk with her first. She may not wish to assume the responsibility. Then again she may have other Easter plans. We shall manage, somehow, to arrange things satisfactorily."

Louise Sampson had no definite Easter plans, so she said, when Grace broached the subject to her the following day. With never-failing good-nature she readily agreed to take charge of Harlowe House during the absence of Grace and Emma, provided Grace felt confident that she was able to measure up to her responsibility.

"I'm so thankful that's arranged," sighed Grace as Louise left her office after luncheon to return to her classes. "I wish some other things could be as easily disposed of."

As she dressed that afternoon to go to Miss Wilder's office she was far from joyous. She disliked the idea of meeting Evelyn in the dean's office. She was confident that Miss Wilder would state frankly to Evelyn why she had been spared.

Her conjecture was only too well grounded. When Evelyn appeared in the dean's office at precisely four o'clock, half anxious, half defiant, Miss Wilder read her a lecture, the cutting severity of which caused Evelyn to flush and pale with humiliation and anger. "Remember, Miss Ward," she emphasized, "it is solely due to Miss Harlowe's intercession in your behalf that I have decided to allow you to remain at Overton."

"Oh, dear, I hope she isn't going to make Evelyn apologize to me," was Grace's thought. "Why did Miss Wilder ask me to come here to-day?"

As if in answer to her unspoken question, Miss Wilder went on to say, "Miss Harlowe came to me last night and asked me not to send you home. I requested her to be present to-day to hear what I wished to say to you. I trust, Miss Ward, that, hereafter, you will see fit to observe the rules of Overton College and live up to them, as a second infringement of this nature will mean instant dismissal from Overton. That is all, I believe."

Thus dismissed Evelyn left the room without a word.

Grace lingered for a moment's conversation with Miss Wilder, then left the office and started across the campus for Harlowe House. Half way there she glanced at her watch. It was not yet five o'clock. She would have time to do a little shopping before dinner. Turning her steps in the opposite direction she was soon hurrying along Overton's main business thoroughfare.

It was ten minutes to six when, her shopping done, she came within sight of Harlowe House. She wondered if Evelyn were at home. Of late she had been more intimate than ever with Althea Parker. As Grace walked into the house and slowly up the stairs the pale face of Ida Ward rose before her. She was glad that she had been able to avert the disastrous consequences of Evelyn's disobedience so that Evelyn alone should suffer.

Entering her room she took off her wraps and began rearranging her hair preparatory to going downstairs to dinner. The sound of footsteps in the hall, the opening of Evelyn's door, then Evelyn's voice declaring excitedly, "You can do it if you want to," caused Grace to lay down her brush and involuntarily listen for a reply.

It came, and in Mary Reynolds' distressed tones. "Oh, really, I couldn't, Evelyn. Please, please don't ask me."

"You must," Evelyn's command broke forth sharply.

"I won't," Mary refusal gathered strength. "You have no right to ask me and I have no right to do it."

"Then you are not my friend if you don't do as I ask," flung back Evelyn, "and I shall never speak to you again. Please go away and don't ever come to this room again."

"I am your friend," quivered Mary, "that's why I refuse to do something which will surely make trouble for you."

"How can it make trouble for me?" demanded Evelyn. "You know as well as I—"

But Grace, coming to a sudden realization that she was listening to something not intended for her ears, sprang from her seat before her dressing-table and went downstairs, wondering not a little what it all meant.



CHAPTER XX

A DOUBLE PUZZLE

Mary Reynolds slipped into her place at dinner that night with red eyelids and a woebegone expression on her small face. Evelyn did not enter the dining-room until after the others had began their meal. Despite the air of careless indifference with which she took her seat, Grace fancied she saw a gleam of anxiety in her eyes. From the few words she had overheard she understood not only the meaning of Mary's dejection, but also of Evelyn's anxious look. But what was it that Evelyn had required of Mary and that Mary had bluntly refused to do? Suppose Evelyn had involved herself in some fresh difficulty. To Grace the thought was distinctly disturbing. Still she felt that it was not within her province to interfere. After all it might be nothing of vital importance, merely a girls' disagreement.

Resolutely dismissing the matter from her mind, Grace thought no more of it. That evening Evelyn came to her as she sat reading in the living room and, in her most distant manner, notified Grace that she intended to go to the dance to be given by the Gamma Kappa Phi, a Willston fraternity, at their fraternity house. Miss Hilton, a member of the Overton faculty, would chaperon her. There were four other freshmen besides herself invited.

Grace made no objection to Evelyn's announcement. After the severe reprimand she had received it was hardly probable that Evelyn would again misrepresent matters. Quite by accident the next day she encountered Miss Hilton upon the campus, and the teacher confirmed Evelyn's story by mentioning the dance and inquiring if Grace had been asked to do chaperon duty. "I am surprised that you weren't," had been Miss Hilton's comment when Grace answered that her services had not been solicited.

Grace had smiled to herself as she went on her way. She was not in the least surprised at not being invited by Evelyn to play chaperon. She was glad that she had not been asked. She decided that she would not have accepted. The dance was to be held on the Friday evening of the following week, and on the Saturday morning after she would be on her way to Oakdale.

How long and yet how short the days seemed that lay between her and home. Long because of her impatience to see her father and mother, short because of the multifold details to be attended to in Harlowe House.

"I'm so tired," she sighed when, at seven o'clock on Friday evening, she saw her trunk and Emma's safely in the hands of the expressman. "Thank goodness our packing is done and gone and out of the way. Let's do recreation stunts to-night, Emma. Suppose we call upon Kathleen and Patience. Incidentally we can pay our respects to Laura Atkins and Mildred Taylor. If they aren't busy we might have a quiet celebration just for auld lang syne at Vinton's. We can be home by ten o'clock."

"All right," agreed Emma, who knelt on the floor, her glasses pushed above her forehead, wrestling valiantly with a refractory strap of her suit case. A moment and she had buckled it into place with a triumphant cluck. "There, that won't have to be done at the last minute. Shall I telephone the girls that we are coming? It's after seven now."

"Yes, do."

Emma left the room returning shortly.

"They are all at home. The sooner we reach Wayne Hall the sooner the celebration will begin," she reminded.

"Then we'll go at once."

Five minutes later the two young women were on their way across the campus. As they neared Wayne Hall a limousine passed containing Miss Hilton, Althea Parker and a freshman friend of Evelyn's. Althea was driving. She bowed curtly to Grace and Emma as her car whizzed by them.

"They are going for Evelyn, I suppose," commented Emma.

"Yes. Oh, bother!" exclaimed Grace, "I've forgotten a letter to Arline which I must mail to-night. Will you wait until I go back for it?"

With light feet Grace sped across the campus, letting herself into the house with her latch key. As she stepped into the hall, a buzz of voices caused her eyes to be fixed on the living-room. Through the parted curtains she saw a dazzling figure which was standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by a group of admiring girls.

It was Evelyn, looking like some wonderful fairy vision in a gown of apricot satin and chiffon, embroidered with exquisite little sprays of tiny rosebuds. The excitement of wholesale admiration had deepened the blue of her eyes to violet and her usual expression of bored indifference had changed to one of intense animation, due to her love of adulation. Grace watched her fascinatedly for a moment, then, remembering that Emma was waiting for her, she hurried on upstairs for her letter and out of the house, unobserved by the group of girls in the living room.

"Was I gone long?" she asked as she rejoined her friend. "I stopped for a minute in the hall to look at Evelyn Ward. She was posing in the middle of the living room for the benefit of an admiring populace. She is going to the Gamma Kappa Phi dance. Miss Hilton and Miss Parker and some of our girls composed the populace. I suppose I ought to have gone in and spoken to them instead of slipping out like a criminal, but I didn't wish to lose time. Really, Emma, I can't begin to tell you how beautiful Evelyn looked!"

"Her white silk evening gown is a work of art. I wish I had a sister Ida to sew for me," commented Emma.

"Oh, she wasn't wearing her white silk. Her gown was apricot satin and—" Grace came to an abrupt stop. "Why—she—that was a new gown. How could she—"

"Have a new gown when her sister is too ill to make it," supplemented Emma dryly.

Two pairs of eyes exchanged questioning glances.

"She may have brought it with her when she came to Overton," said Grace. "She is very secretive, you know. All along she may have been saving it for some such occasion as this dance."

"True enough," admitted Emma. "Always take people at their face value until you find they haven't any," she added cheerfully.

"I shall," declared Grace. "I'm not going to spoil my Easter vacation by worrying over something that is really Evelyn's own affair."



CHAPTER XXI

THE PUZZLE DEEPENS

Grace experienced a pleasure in being at home for Easter so deep as to be akin to pain. When as a student at Overton she had traveled happily home for her Christmas and Easter vacations there had been a difference. Then, her classmates had much to do with making it easier to be away from her adored father and mother. But now that she had bravely launched her boat on the tempestuous sea of work, she found that home was a far distant shore, for whose cheery lights she often yearned. To be sure Emma was a never-failing source of consolation, but there were more times than one when the clutching fingers of homesickness were at her throat.

To Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe, Emma Dean was an unfailing source of amusement and delight. In Hippy, too, she found a kindred spirit, and when Elfreda arrived the funny trio was complete. It seemed to Grace that she had not laughed so much in years. Anne, Jessica and Reddy had not been able to join their friends for the Easter holidays and were loudly mourned and sorely missed. Tom Gray managed to come on for a two days' visit and cause Grace the only unhappy moments she spent at home by again asking her to give up her beloved work to marry him.

"I'm so sorry for Tom," she confided to her mother, on the night before leaving home to return to Overton, "but I can't give up my work, even for him. Really and truly, mother, I wish I did love Tom in the way he wants me to love him, but I don't. I feel toward him just as I felt when I first met him. He's a good comrade; nothing more."

"If you loved Tom, your father and I would be glad to welcome him as our son, Grace," was her mother's quiet reply. "He is a remarkably fine type of young man, but unless you reach the point where you are certain that he is, and always will be, the one man in the world for you, you would be doing not only yourself but him too, the greatest possible injury if you promised to marry him."

"That is just it!" exclaimed Grace. "I told him so, but I know that didn't console him. Last June when I came home from Overton I thought perhaps I might say 'yes' later on. But now that I've been working for almost a year I find I'd rather keep on working. It would be dreadful, of course, if some day I should suddenly discover that I did love him enough to marry him and then he shouldn't ask me. That isn't likely to happen. I don't believe I could give up my work for any man. My whole heart is in it."

In spite of her declaration of unswerving loyalty to her work, more than once, Tom's fine resolute face rose before Grace on the return journey to Overton. During the afternoon Emma, usually loquacious, became absorbed in a book, so that Grace, who could not settle herself to read, had altogether too much opportunity for reflection.

She was inwardly thankful when the lights of Overton twinkled into view. Emma was still deep in her book. "We are almost there, Emma," she reminded.

Emma glanced out of the window, then closed her book and began to gather up her belongings.

"I wonder how things are at Harlowe House," mused Grace, as they crossed the station platform. "Come on, Emma. There's a taxicab just turning into the station driveway."

Three minutes later they were speeding through the silent streets. It was after nine o'clock and there were few persons passing.

"No place like home," caroled Emma as they let themselves into Harlowe House. In the living-room they found Louise Sampson and half a dozen girls. At sight of Grace and Emma, Louise came quickly forward.

"We thought you would come!" she exclaimed, "so we decided to watch for you. We have hot chocolate and sandwiches. Do say you're hungry."

"We are ravenous," assured Emma, "and as soon as we make a trip upstairs and dispossess ourselves of our goods and chattels we'll come to the party."

"Everything has gone beautifully," Louise confided to Grace, when later she dropped down on the window seat beside her, where the latter had established herself with a sandwich and a cup of chocolate. "Only one thing bothered me, and that was the way Miss Reynolds moped. She and Miss Ward had a quarrel and poor Miss Reynolds still goes about looking like a red-eyed little ghost. No one can find out her trouble and no one seems to be able to comfort her. One day last week I almost thought I saw Miss Ward crying too, but I must have been mistaken. She is too proud to cry over anything. There are several letters for you, Miss Harlowe. I put them in the top drawer of your desk in the office."

At the word "letters" Grace had risen to her feet. "You'll excuse me if I go for them at once, won't you?" she asked.

"Of course," smiled Louise.

A goodly pile of letters met her eyes as she opened the drawer. Grace ran through the envelopes with eager fingers. The square thin envelope with the foreign postmark meant a letter from Eleanor Savelli. There was one from Mabel Ashe and another from Mabel Allison, Arline Thayer and Ruth Denton were also represented in the collection and on the very bottom of the pile lay a square envelope addressed in Anne's neat hand.

Grace pounced upon it joyfully, and, laying the others on the slide of her desk, tore it open and became immediately absorbed in the closely written sheets. When she had finished reading the letter she laid it down, then picking it up again turned to a paragraph on the last sheet.

"I promised to try to help Miss Ward," wrote Anne. "Well, I have practically secured an engagement for her with Mr. Forest. It is an ingenue part in 'The Reckoning,' which is to run in New York City all summer, at his theater. If she can come to New York as soon as college closes Mr. and Miss Southard wish her to stay at their home. We can soon tell whether she can play the part or not. If she can't, Mr. Southard will be able to give her 'bits' in his company, but the other part is by far the best engagement if she can make good in it. Both Mr. and Miss Southard say, however, that they must have a letter of consent from her sister before they will undertake launching her in the theatrical world. They will write her if Miss Ward wishes them to do so. It is a really great opportunity for her. You know how easily and delightfully I earned my way through college. Let me know as soon as you can, Grace, what she wishes to do."

Grace read this paragraph half a dozen times. Her other letters lay unheeded before her. Finally she gathered them up and, with the open letter in her hand, went slowly upstairs. At Evelyn's door she paused and listened. She heard the sound of some one moving about within. Yes, Evelyn was still up. Grace rapped boldly on the door.

A moment and it swung open. Evelyn stood staring blankly at Grace. She was wrapped in the folds of a pale blue silk kimono. Her hair hung in loose golden waves far below her waist and she reminded Grace of the beautiful Rapunzel of fairy tale fame who was shut up in a tower by a wicked witch and forced each night to let down her golden hair so that her dreadful jailer might climb up and into the tower window.

"Miss Ward," began Grace, without giving Evelyn time to utter a word, "I am sorry to disturb you so late in the evening, but I have very good news for you. Miss Pierson has all but secured an engagement for you in 'The Reckoning,' a new play which is to run in New York City all summer. Read what she says."

Grace handed the sheet of paper to Evelyn.

The girl stretched forth her hand mechanically for it. She still regarded Grace dully. Then to Grace's utter amazement she burst into tears. "I can't—take—the—engagement," she sobbed. "I'm—not—coming—back—to—Overton—next year."

"What can have happened to her!" wondered Grace. Aloud she said: "Don't decide too hastily, Miss Ward. Take three or four days in which to think things over. I'll come in and see you to-morrow."

Evelyn made some incoherent response, unintelligible to Grace. The latter realized that in her present state Evelyn could not be comforted. It was best to leave her entirely alone until she had had her cry out. To-morrow would be time enough to try again to try to discover what had happened.



CHAPTER XXII

TWO LETTERS

Shortly after Grace returned to her room Emma joined her.

"Where did you go? You are not the only one whose correspondents rose nobly to the occasion," she exulted, holding up several letters. "You haven't read yours yet, have you. Let's get ready for bed, put on our dressing gowns, and have a letter reading orgy."

"All right," agreed Grace. "I've already opened one of mine. It was from Anne. She sends her love to you, and what do you think, Emma?" Grace lowered her voice. "She has secured a New York engagement for Evelyn Ward. I saw Miss Ward to-night, but something is troubling her. When I went to the door to tell her what Anne had done she began to cry. I couldn't find out what ailed her, and the more I talked the harder she cried. She said, however, that she couldn't accept Anne's offer. She thinks she won't come back to Overton."

"Happy Overton," commented Emma unsympathetically. "Now hurry into your dressing gown and let's begin our letters."

Evelyn appeared at breakfast the next morning looking weary and haggard. Her face was very pale and her eyes were heavy. By night, however, she seemed to have regained something of her old poise. Covertly watching her, Grace noticed that for some unknown reason she was much subdued. Several days afterward she came to Grace and finally refused Anne's offer. "But are you quite certain that you are acting wisely, Miss Ward?" Grace asked in perplexed amazement. "Last winter you were anxious to go into dramatic work."

"I have changed my mind," was Evelyn's sole reply.

Grace wrote to Anne advising her of Evelyn's refusal, but adding that she wished Anne would keep Evelyn in mind. "I can't help feeling that she is acting against her real desires and that later she will realize her mistake."

The little that was left of April passed quickly. Life went on placidly enough at Harlowe House, although Grace found few idle moments. With the first of June she began a detailed report of her year's work to be presented to the faculty and to Mrs. Gray. This report had not been required of her. She was making it merely for her own satisfaction. With her it was a matter of pride in having been a faithful steward. She had tried to safeguard not only the interests of the girls under her roof, but Mrs. Gray's interests as well.

"I hope I've been a good house mother," she murmured wistfully, as, seated in her office one bright Friday afternoon, she worked on her report. The ring of the postman caused her to lay down her pen and hurry into the hall. To her surprise she saw Evelyn Ward had forestalled her. She had opened the door for the postman, and now stood rapidly going over the pile of letters in her hand. Grace saw her separate two letters from the pile. At this instant Evelyn glanced up. She uttered a sharp exclamation of surprise when she saw Grace standing beside her. Two letters fell from her hands.

Grace stooped to pick them up. "Did I startle you, Miss Ward? I did not mean to. I did not know you were in the house. I thought the girls had gone to their classes."



"I—I—am late," stammered Evelyn. "I'm going to my botany recitation in a minute. I—expected a letter. Here is the mail." She thrust the letters she had been holding into Grace's hand, and, turning, almost ran up the stairs.

For an instant Grace's eyes followed Evelyn's disappearing figure, then she turned her attention to the letters. She still held the two she had picked up from the floor in her one hand. Glancing at them she saw that they were both addressed to her. No doubt Evelyn had intended to leave them on her desk. Rapidly sorting the other letters she found another for herself in Anne's handwriting. Placing the letters for the various members of the household in the bulletin board Grace retired to her office to read Anne's letter.

"DEAREST GRACE:

"Just a line to tell you that the part in 'The Reckoning' is still open. Mr. Forest cannot find the type of girl he wishes for the part. She must be dazzlingly, but naturally, blonde and very beautiful. I am sure if he were to see Miss Ward he would engage her at once, even though she has had no dramatic experience. Why not let her read this note? Perhaps she may change her mind. She will never have a better opportunity. I am ready and willing to help her. Am writing in a rush. It is almost time for me to go on. With much love. Will write more fully later.

"Yours as ever, ANNE."

Grace laid down the letter with a slight frown. Since Evelyn's first refusal to consider Anne's proposal Grace had held little communication with her. Of late Evelyn had gone about her affairs with a curious air of repression, which reminded Grace of the terrible calm that so often precedes a storm.

"I'll watch for her when she comes in from her classes and give her Anne's letter," said Grace, half aloud. She picked up the next envelope and looked curiously at the unfamiliar writing. The postmark was all but obliterated. Tearing the envelope she drew forth the letter, unfolded it and read:

"DEAR MISS HARLOWE:

"More than once I have planned to write and thank you for your goodness to Evelyn, but I have been so very busy that the time has slipped by faster than I realized. Fortunately, for Evelyn and me, I have had a great deal of work to do and have been in exceptionally good health, so that it has been easier than I thought to raise the money to pay her college fees. I will enclose the second payment of her fee in a letter which I am writing to her. I have mentioned in my letter to her that I have written to you. I thank you many times for your goodness to my little sister and trust that she has been truly appreciative of your kindness to her. Trusting that you have been well and that you have met with the greatest success in your year's work. With grateful thanks and best wishes.

"Yours sincerely,

"IDA WARD."

Grace read the letter through three times. When she raised her eyes from it her face wore an expression of mingled horrified suspicion and unbelief. Surely it could not be possible, and yet—before her mental eyes flashed the vision of that wet January afternoon when she had come back to Harlowe House from her Christmas vacation and had been greeted by the sound of Evelyn's sobs as she passed her door. How she had gone to Evelyn's room and there heard the pitiful story of Ida Ward's illness and her failure to send Evelyn's college fees, and of how, through the Semper Fidelis Fund, she had come forward and bridged Evelyn's difficulty.