What did it mean? "She must have—" muttered Grace. In her agitation she spoke aloud. Then she stopped abruptly. She would not condemn Evelyn without a hearing, but Evelyn would have to explain, if explanation were possible. She laid the letter on her desk and turning away from it tore open the last envelope, which bore the name of a business house in one corner. It contained a bill from Hanford's, the largest department store in Overton. At the bottom was written. "This account is long overdue. Please remit at once." Grace had a charge account at Hanford's on which, occasionally, she allowed certain girls in the house to buy goods, merely as a matter of accommodation to them. Her gaze traveled down the list of items in bewilderment.

"Why!" she exclaimed. "I never bought a gown there that cost seventy-five dollars, or silk stockings or a scarf. There must be some mistake. I know that none of the girls have either. I haven't bought anything since February. Let me see. It's only three o'clock. I think I'll walk down to Hanford's and have the matter adjusted. I must see Evelyn too, as soon as she comes in."

Grace went upstairs for her hat and was soon on her way to the business center of Overton. Her impatience to learn the truth received its first check with the indifferent assurance of the clerk that Mr. Anderson, the man in charge of the department of accounts, was busy upstairs.

"Then I'll wait for him." With a sigh of resignation she sat down on the oak seat just outside the office window to wait.

It was twenty minutes past four when Mr. Anderson appeared.

"I can't let you know about this at once," was the accountant's discouraging response when Grace laid the matter before him. "We'll take it up with the saleswoman, then write you."

"Very well. I shall expect to hear from you within the next three days." Grace turned away, far from satisfied. Yet there was nothing else to do. Long since she had learned that the system employe of a department store is a law unto himself, and as unchangeable in his methods as the most stubborn Mede or Persian ever dreamed of being.

And now for her interview with Evelyn. How could she best approach the girl whom she suspected of having first shamefully betrayed her sister's confidence, then purposely misrepresented matters to her? And what had Evelyn done with the money? These and similar painful questions occupied her thoughts so fully that she did not realize that she had reached Harlowe House until she found herself ascending the front steps.

Without giving herself time to consider delaying the disagreeable interview, Grace hurried up the stairs. To her surprise Evelyn's door stood partially open. She peered into the room, but it was empty of an occupant. Stepping inside she glanced about her. Evelyn's hat was gone. She had come in from her classes and gone out again.

Grace went slowly downstairs. She was sorry that she had not been able to have her talk with Evelyn before the others came in from their day's recitations. She decided to wait until after dinner. When Evelyn went to her room she would follow her there. The longer she delayed facing Evelyn with her sister's letter the harder the task would become. But at dinner time Evelyn's place was vacant.

At ten o'clock that night she had not come in.

Becoming alarmed Grace telephoned to Althea Parker to know if Evelyn were with her. In reply to her anxious inquiry Althea declared she had not seen Evelyn for two days. Uncertain as to the wisest course to pursue Grace concluded to wait until Emma came in from an evening's visit with Patience Eliot.

It was almost eleven o'clock when Emma returned.

"I'm so glad you've come," greeted Grace as her friend entered their room. "Evelyn Ward hasn't come in yet and I'm worried about her. I saw her this afternoon, but she hasn't been here since then."

"Very likely she is with Miss Parker." Emma spoke in an unconcerned tone.

"No she isn't. I telephoned Miss Parker. She hasn't seen Evelyn for two days."

"She hasn't?" Emma glanced at Grace in surprise. The ring of anxiety in Grace's voice had not been lost upon her. "What's happened, Gracious!" she asked.

For answer Grace handed Ida Ward's letter to Emma. "Read it," she commanded.

Emma read the letter. "Do you think—" she began.

"What do you think?" interrupted Grace. "What can one think? Evelyn received her letter from Ida Ward before I received this. She knew that this letter was on the way. This afternoon I found her at the door sorting the mail. She had two letters in one hand, which she had separated from the others. When she saw me she dropped the two. I stooped to pick them up. Both of them were for me. I said, 'Did I startle you, Miss Ward?' and she stammered something about expecting a letter. She shoved the other letters into my hands and ran upstairs. I haven't seen her since."

"Who was the other letter from that she had picked out?"

"Oh, it was a bill from Hanford's. I—" Grace stopped short and stared at Emma. A horrible suspicion had seized her. She was afraid that she now understood the meaning of the bill she had received. In one of those curious, illumining flashes, which sometimes reveal in an instant what seems hopelessly obscure, she had hit upon the truth.

Briefly she outlined the situation to Emma, who had long been her confidante.

"You'd better let matters rest till to-morrow," advised Emma. "It's too late to try to find her to-night. We would only create comment and arouse suspicion if we telephone to the houses where her friends live. It wouldn't surprise me if she had left Overton for good and all."

"We must find her," declared Grace with decision.

"What will you do with her if you do find her?"

"I don't know. That will depend entirely upon her. You are right, though, about waiting until morning. We must protect her from the consequences of her own foolishness. For she isn't wicked, Emma. She has been carried away by vanity and love of dress. Perhaps if we gave her another chance she would live all this down and be a different girl."

"Perhaps," Emma's tone was skeptical. "For the sake of the community at large let us hope for this much-to-be-desired metamorphosis."

But the next morning brought news of Evelyn in the shape of a letter addressed to Grace, which came on the first delivery of the mail for the day. With eager fingers Grace opened it. A slip of blue paper fluttered to the floor as she unfolded it. Picking it up she saw it was a money order made payable to Evelyn Ward, then she read:

"DEAR MISS HARLOWE:

"When you receive this letter I shall be far away from Harlowe House. I have done dreadful things and I cannot face you. All I can do is to go away where no one knows me, and begin over again. I used the money Ida sent me in the fall for my college fees to buy an evening dress. Then I told you that she was ill. I cried purposely to gain your sympathy because I knew about the Semper Fidelis Fund and was sure you would help me. I meant to pay it all back to you, and so I am going to New York to get work and do it, even though it takes me a long, long time.

"But there is something still more dreadful to tell you. I wanted another new evening gown to wear to the Willston dance. I had paid my college fees for the year, so I thought I could take the money that Ida sent me for my payment and buy a gown and other things which I wanted. But Ida wrote and said she couldn't send the money just then, so I went to Hanford's department store and bought the things. I had them charged to your account. When the bill came I was terribly frightened. I thought they wouldn't send it for a long time. I just happened to see it in the bulletin board, so I took it out and tore it up.

"Then I went to Mary Reynolds and tried to get her to lend me some of the treasury money until my money came, but she wouldn't do it. That is why she cried so often. When the first of May came I watched the bulletin board and took the bill again. It had Hanford's address in one corner so I knew it. All the time I kept hoping that Ida would send my money before it was too late. Yesterday morning it came, but in her letter she said she had written to you and told you how well she had been and about her work. I knew it would be dreadful for me if you received her letter, but I did not know when it would come, so I stayed away from my classes and watched the mail. I had the letter from Ida and the bill from the store in my hands when you surprised me this afternoon. You picked them up before I had a chance to do so. Then I knew that there was just one thing to do and that was to go away.

"Please take the money order and pay the bill at the store. I will pay Semper Fidelis as soon as I can. I will write Ida and tell her how badly I have behaved, and when I go to work in New York I will send for my trunk. It is packed and ready to be shipped.

"Forgive me if you can. I am sorry for everything. I wish I had been different. Good-bye and thank you for your great kindness to me. I did not deserve it. Please don't try to find me.

"Penitently,

"EVELYN WARD."

For a time Grace sat at her desk with the letter in her hand. Then she stood up with the air of one who has come to a definite decision. "I'll go to New York City to-day to look for her," she said half aloud. "I believe she will try to get work at one of the theaters. Mr. Southard and Anne will help me find her. She must come back to Overton. I feel sure that she has suffered enough over this trouble to have learned her lesson."

Grace ran upstairs and burst into her room with, "Emma, Evelyn has gone to New York! I'm going to take the next train there. Read this letter. It will tell you everything. I haven't time. I must make that 9.15 train."

Grace was in the middle of a hasty toilet when a knock sounded on the door.

Emma answered it.

"Here's a telegram for Miss Harlowe." The maid held out a yellow envelope.

Grace tore it open. One glance at the telegram and she began a joyful dance about the room, waving it over her head. "Hurrah for Kathleen West! She found Evelyn! Read it."

She held the telegram before Emma's eyes.

"Evelyn with me. Return Overton Sunday. All well

"KATHLEEN."

read Emma aloud. Turning to Grace she quoted with whimsical tenderness, "To Kathleen West, girls, drink her down." Then with twinkling eyes she added, "There's only one thing that I can say to express my sentiments, and, with my sincerest apologies to the august faculty which trustfully engaged me to teach English, I say it with heartfelt fervor, 'Can you beat it?'"



CHAPTER XXIII

KATHLEEN WEST, CONFIDANTE

When Evelyn Ward left Grace Harlowe with the letters, which she had tried so hard to obtain, in her possession, she had but one thought. That thought was to leave Harlowe House before Grace realized the full meaning of her guilt. For two days Evelyn's suit case had been packed for just such an emergency. She had not been sure that she could stem the tide of retribution that had set in against her, so she was prepared to slip away if she failed to obtain the letters that meant her undoing. Hardly had Grace reseated herself in her office when Evelyn, suit case in hand, her hat on, the coat to her suit thrown over her arm, stole stealthily down the stairs and let herself out of the house without a sound. Once clear of the house she set off across the campus, almost at a run, in the direction of the station. At four o 'clock there was a train to New York. She had a little money. She would go there. Once there she would try to get into a theatrical company.

Arrived at the station she glanced fearfully about her. She did not wish to meet any one she knew. Leaving her suit case in charge of the station master she left the station and walked slowly up the street. She would stroll about until almost train time. She had over an hour's wait. If she encountered any of the students she knew on the street they would attach no importance to seeing her.

It was five minutes to four when she purchased her ticket to New York. To her relief she had seen no one she knew. When the train pulled into the station she was the first person to board it. She took a seat on the side of the car farthest from the platform, so she did not see a slim hurrying girl's figure rush madly down the platform, just as the train was about to start, and swing herself up the car steps on the last second, heedless of the warning expostulation of the porter.

Torn with remorse for the past, fearful of the future, which, to her overwrought imagination, crouched like a huge black monster ready to spring upon her and engulf her in its cruel jaws, Evelyn watched the swiftly passing landscape with unseeing eyes. When a voice from the seat behind her suddenly addressed her with, "Good evening, Miss Ward," she half sprang to her feet in blind terror. Turning, she found herself looking into the keen, dark eyes of Kathleen West, the newspaper girl.

"Oh—good evening," she faltered.

"Going to New York?" was the brisk question.

Evelyn nodded.

"I'm coming into your seat. I hate riding alone in a train. I'm so glad you are going the whole way."

Evelyn made no reply. She wished Kathleen a thousand miles off.

The newspaper girl scrutinized narrowly her companion's lovely set face. Trained in the study of human nature she had learned to know the outward signs of a perturbed spirit. Her straight brows knit in a puzzled frown. Then, noting that Evelyn had colored hotly under the shrewd fixity of her sharp eyes, she glanced carelessly away.

Neither girl spoke for a little. Evelyn was wondering distractedly how she could escape from Kathleen, when they reached New York, without arousing suspicion on the part of the newspaper girl. Kathleen, whose intuition as well as her eyes told her that all was not well with Evelyn, racked her brain for the words which would tear down the wall of stony reticence which this strange girl had built about herself. Try as she might she could think of no effectual way to begin. Deciding to bide her time she tried to rouse Evelyn's too-apparently flagging spirits by a crisp account of a big newspaper story which she had run to earth during her Easter vacation. At first she met with small success, but as she talked on Evelyn grew interested in spite of herself and began asking half timid, half eager questions about New York. Was it hard to get work there? Could a girl live on six or seven dollars a week in a large city? How did these girls go about it to find positions? In what section of the city did most of the working girls, who had no homes, live?

Kathleen answered her questions imperturbably, telling of her own experience in New York as a beginner of newspaper work. Later Evelyn plied her with countless questions regarding the stage, its advantages and disadvantages. The throb of anxiety in her voice was stronger than her elaborate pretense of indifference. Figuratively, Kathleen pricked up her ears. It was only when they had exhausted the subjects of the working girl and the stage that she launched at Evelyn the seemingly innocent question, "Where are you going to stay in New York, Miss Ward?"

"I—why—" stammered Evelyn.

"Do you expect to be met at the station? It will be almost midnight when we reach New York, you know."

"I know," muttered Evelyn. Averting her face from Kathleen she stared out the window.

"It's now or never," decided Kathleen. Her strong supple fingers closed suddenly over one of the limp white hands that lay so helplessly in Evelyn's lap. "Miss Ward," she said in a low tense voice, "something dreadful has happened to you. I want you to tell me about it. Remember this. No matter what it is, I am your friend. I feel sure that you are going blindly and alone, to the coldest, cruelest city in the world and I should never forgive myself if I allowed you to do it."

Into Evelyn's eyes leaped indescribable terror as Kathleen's hand closed over hers. For an instant she stared wildly at the newspaper girl, then the stony reserve, with which she had bolstered herself, gave away, and tearing her hands free she covered her face with them.

Kathleen waited patiently till the tearless storm which shook Evelyn had subsided a little. "Now tell me all about it," she urged gently.

Evelyn's hands dropped from her face. The tortured look in her blue eyes aroused all Kathleen's sympathy. Haltingly, tremblingly, bit by bit, Evelyn told of the temptation to use her sister's hard-earned money for fine clothes, and the gulf of deception and dishonesty into which she had plunged by yielding to it.

Kathleen listened without comment. When Evelyn had finished she said, "You must go back to Overton, Miss Ward, and to Grace Harlowe. She will forgive everything and set you right with yourself again."

"Oh, I couldn't," protested Evelyn wildly. "She knows already how dishonest I've been. I can never go back to Overton. I must stay in New York and work and never see Ida or any one again. I have forfeited all claim to friendship or love."

"Nonsense! Just get rid of that idea as fast as ever you can. You are going to my boarding house with me to-night. To-morrow we will go and see Anne Pierson. I know where the Southards live. We will ask her to get you an engagement. Perhaps you can meet Mr. Forest."

"Miss Harlowe told Miss Pierson about me, and she wrote and offered to get me an engagement," faltered Evelyn, "but I knew I couldn't take it, so I refused. There wouldn't be any chance for me now. That was several weeks ago."

"There is sure to be something for you. You are beautiful, you know," went on Kathleen in an appraising, matter-of-fact tone. "You are sure to make good. You must. You're going to pay Semper Fidelis back as soon as ever you can and you'll have to work hard and save your money."

Forgetting for the instant her remorse and humiliation Evelyn clasped her hands in an eagerness born of the desire to make reparation. "Oh, I will!" Then her face clouded. "Miss Pierson won't care to help me after the dreadful things I've done."

"Who is going to tell her about them? I'm not. I know Grace Harlowe won't. It isn't necessary for you to tell her either. It shall be a secret among we three. I know Grace will say so."

The two girls, so strangely brought together and united in this new bond of fellowship, talked on. It was ten minutes to twelve when they reached New York City. At the station they were met by a tall clean-cut, young man with keen blue eyes. "Got your wire, Kathleen." He stooped and kissed the self-reliant Miss West, who turned very pink. "I'll have to explain," she smiled as she introduced him to Evelyn. "Mr. Vernon is my fiance, but don't you dare breathe it at Overton. Miss Ward won't be able to see the persons she is to call upon until to-morrow. She's going to my boarding house with me. You can call a taxicab and ride that far with us." The newspaper girl's clever explanation bridged a yawning gap.

Kathleen and Mr. Vernon kept up a steady conversation during the ride. Evelyn sat silent, trying to realize just what had happened to her. She experienced an immeasurable sense of relief, as though she had been dragged, just in time, from the edge of a frightful precipice. Long after Kathleen had gone to sleep that night she lay staring into the darkness, wide-eyed and wondering at the goodness of this girl whom she hardly knew, and into her heart crept a sudden revelation of what true fellowship meant and was to mean to her forever afterward.



CHAPTER XXIV

CONCLUSION

The following morning Kathleen took Evelyn to call on Anne Pierson at the Southards. She gazed almost in awe at Everett Southard, while her feeling of admiration for Anne was deep and abiding. Her undeniable beauty was not lost upon Mr. Southard, who later confided to his sister and Anne that Miss Ward was the most beautiful blonde girl he had ever seen. After an hour's chat in the actor's big, comfortable library Mr. Southard proposed that they call upon Mr. Forest that morning. Miss Pierson had written Miss Harlowe about the part, he declared, to the complete mystification of both Kathleen and Evelyn. He was glad Miss Ward had been able to come. He was sure she would be exactly suited to the part in "The Reckoning." Kathleen managed to shoot a warning glance at Evelyn not to betray herself. Later, by adroitly questioning Anne, she managed to put herself in possession of all the details concerning the letter Anne had written to Grace.

Mr. Forest quite fulfilled Mr. Southard's prediction. He could not refrain from showing his satisfaction with Evelyn. Within half an hour after entering his office she had signed a contract to play the part of 'Constance Devon' in the forthcoming production of 'The Reckoning.'

"First rehearsal July 2d. Here's the part. Study it. Make these hardened barnstormers help you," declared Mr. Forest with a dry chuckle, as he handed her the part.

"But how does he know that I can do it?" she questioned, half fearfully, as they left the office.

"He is going to take a chance," explained Mr. Southard. "In his own mind he thinks you will do. He knows we will help you. You must work hard and prove to him that he is right."

To Evelyn the rest of that eventful Saturday seemed like a marvelous dream. She had never before been in a large city, but despite her interest in the sights and sounds of New York she could not help thinking of how different it might all have been if she had not met Kathleen. The busy, endless streets terrified her and the more she saw of the great metropolis the less confidence she felt in her own power to wrest a living from it, single-handed and alone.

After leaving Mr. Forest's office they took luncheon at the Southards. Mr. Southard and Anne had a matinee in the afternoon. That evening they were to give the final performance of their season, which had run later than usual. Kathleen had an assignment for her paper for the afternoon, so Miss Southard took Evelyn to a matinee at one of the theaters. That evening the little party met at six o'clock in Mr. Southard's dressing room, where their dinner was brought in and served to them. Afterward Kathleen, Miss Southard and Evelyn sat in a box and saw Everett Southard and Anne in "The Merchant of Venice."

After the theater came a little supper at the Southards' home to which Mr. Vernon, Kathleen's fiance, was also invited. Miss Southard had insisted that Kathleen and Evelyn should be her guests for the remainder of their stay in New York, and it was under the Southards' hospitable roof that Evelyn fell asleep that night after one of the happiest, most eventful days she had ever spent.

Sunday morning soon slipped by. It seemed hardly half an hour from breakfast until train time. The charming informality with which the actor and his sister treated her made Evelyn feel as though she had known them for a very long time. In the enjoyment of the moment she quite forgot the real reason of her journey to New York, and it was only when Miss Southard invited her to come to their home to live as soon as college was over, in order that Mr. Southard might help her with her new part, that the humiliating remembrance of her misdeeds returned to her with sickening force.

"You must write to your sister, my dear, and explain everything," said Miss Southard. "If you will give me her address I will write to her too. That is one point on which Everett is most particular. He would not encourage a young girl to enter upon the life of the stage without the full consent of her parents or guardian."

When finally she and Kathleen had said good-bye to the Southards, who had seen them to their train, and were settled for the long ride to Overton, Evelyn faltered, "Kathleen, all the time I was with the Southards I felt just like a traitor. Do you think I ought to have told them everything? It's not fair to them to masquerade under false colors."

Kathleen eyed her companion searchingly. Evelyn's conscience was no longer sleeping. It was now wide awake and tormenting her.

"I'm glad you feel as you do about it, Evelyn," was her blunt rejoinder. "It shows that you are on the right road. I don't believe it is necessary for you to tell the Southards anything. Still there is another person who must decide that."

"You mean Miss Harlowe?"

Kathleen nodded.

"I can't bear to face her." Evelyn's voice sank almost to a whisper.

"You are not the only one who has said that." There was a curiously significant ring in Kathleen's voice that made Evelyn look at her in mute inquiry.

"Let me tell you of another girl who had to face the same situation." Kathleen began with her entrance into Overton as a freshman and told Evelyn the story of her hatred of Grace and her betrayal of Grace's trust, of how Elfreda had shown her the way to reparation and the gaining of true college spirit, and of how she had tried in a small measure to redeem the past by writing "Loyalheart" as a belated tribute to Grace.

Evelyn listened with somber attentiveness. The past three days had taught her more of life than had her entire eighteen years. She had lately begun to see what college might mean to the girl who lived up to its traditions. Until the moment of hearing Kathleen's story she had felt that Grace Harlowe must despise her utterly. Now she fixed solemn blue eyes on Kathleen. "Do you believe Miss Harlowe will ever forgive me?" was her mournful question.

"Of course she will. You don't know her as I do."

Kathleen's emphatic assurance had a visibly cheering effect upon the other girl. When they reached Overton, however, her dread of meeting Grace returned with renewed force. "I can't face her to-night," she pleaded.

"We are going to Harlowe House now. Come on." Kathleen grasped Evelyn's arm and piloted her up the street at a brisk pace. Neither girl ever forgot that walk across the campus.

"Here we are." They had mounted the steps of Harlowe House. Kathleen rang the bell.

A moment's wait and the door opened. Grace stood peering out at the two girls. "I knew you'd come. I've been watching for you," she cried. She held out her hands to Evelyn, who dropped her suit case and grasped them with a half smothered sob.

"Come up to my room." Slipping her arm about Evelyn, Grace drew her toward the stairs.

"Good night, Grace, I'll see you to-morrow." The vestibule door closed with a decided click. Kathleen did not wish to be a third party. Grace and Evelyn were better off without her.

Once in Grace's room Evelyn broke down. "Oh, Miss Harlowe, can you, will you forgive me?" she sobbed.

"You mustn't cry so, Miss Ward," soothed Grace. "Of course I forgive you. If Miss West had not brought you home to me I intended to go to New York City to look for you. Remember, you are, and I hope will be until your college days are over, a Harlowe House girl."

"You are too good to me," sobbed Evelyn.

Grace led her gently to a chair. "Sit down," she urged.

Evelyn sank into the chair. "I can't come back to Overton next year." Her head drooped in shame and humiliation.

"You must," said Grace simply, "for your own sake as well as your sister's. She must never be worried with the slightest inkling of what has happened. It is to be a secret. Outside of Miss Dean and Miss West no one except ourselves knows."

"Miss Pierson and Mr. Southard took me to see Mr. Forest. He engaged me to play a part in his new play 'The Reckoning,'" began Evelyn. "I—I didn't—tell—the Southards—about—things. Kathleen wouldn't let me, but she says I must tell them if you say so. I'd—rather. I—I want to be—honest—now—and—and always." Evelyn's voice shook with the intensity of her feelings.

"Kathleen was right in not allowing you to tell them. You have suffered enough, Evelyn. You must look to the future. Your work this summer will make it possible for you to pay the money you owe Semper Fidelis and your college expenses too."

Grace's sensible, practical, words, went far toward restoring Evelyn to her normal self. The two young women talked long and earnestly. It was after eleven o'clock when Evelyn rose to go to her room.

"I'll prove to you that I am worthy of your trust," she said with shining eyes. "I'll make you and Ida proud of me yet."

After she had gone to her room Grace sat for a little, her hands idly folded, her thoughts on the girl who had found herself after many false starts. How glad she was that everything had turned out so beautifully, thanks to Kathleen's chance meeting with Evelyn. What a power for good Kathleen had become. Yes, college was really the place where one eventually found oneself. And now her first year of work was almost over. Another week and she would be back in dear old Oakdale. With the thought of home Tom Gray's earnest, boyish face rose before her. It cast a faint shadow on the pleasure of the coming reunion with her family and friends. She hated to feel that she was making Tom unhappy, yet she was equally certain that, with her, work still came first.

"I can't give up my work," she said aloud.

"Well, who said you should?" demanded Emma Dean's matter-of-fact tones. The door stood partly open and Emma had entered just in time to hear Grace's emphatic utterance.

"Has the prodigal returned?"

"She has," smiled Grace. Grace recounted what had taken place that evening. "Isn't it wonderful how college helps these girls to find themselves, Emma?" she asked when she had finished her recital.

"College and Grace Harlowe," declared Emma.

"You mustn't say that," Grace colored and shook her head in emphatic denial.

"Oh, yes, I must, because it is the truth," insisted Emma. "Dear Loyalheart, your Highway of Life led you back into the Land of College, didn't it?"

Grace nodded. "I'm going to stay in the Land of College too, Emma. I was just thinking about it when you came in. That was what made me say, 'I can't give up my work.'"

"Overton needs you, and Harlowe House needs you, and Emma Dean needs you, but are you sure that some one else does not need you more than we do?" questioned Emma slyly.

"That's three to one, Emma, and the majority rules," evaded Grace. "Will you be my roommate, mentor and comforter next year?"

"Most Gracious Grace, I will, and there's my hand on it."

How fully Emma Dean kept her promise and what Grace's second year on the campus brought her will be told in "Grace Harlowe's Problem," the record of her further college life at Harlowe House.

THE END.