Jane Allen: Right Guard / Bancroft, Edith

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Title: Jane Allen: Right Guard

Author: Edith Bancroft

Release Date: August 9, 2006 [EBook #19015]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

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[Illustration: As Right Guard, Jane proved herself worthy of the
position.]

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JANE ALLEN: RIGHT GUARD

By
Edith Bancroft

Author of Jane Allen of the Sub-Team

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Akron, Ohio
New York

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Copyright MCMXVIII

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

Jane Allen, Right Guard
Made in the United States of America

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

    I  DAY DREAMS                               1
   II  A COUNCIL OF WAR                        11
  III  BAD NEWS                                17
   IV  THE REASON WHY                          27
    V  THE UNKNOWN MISCHIEF MAKER              34
   VI  THE PLOT THICKENS                       42
  VII  AN UNPLEASANT TABLEMATE                 51
 VIII  A HAPPY THOUGHT                         63
   IX  SEEKERS OF DISCORD                      72
    X  A VAGUE REGRET                          82
   XI  REJECTED CAVALIERS                      91
  XII  NORMA'S "FIND"                         101
 XIII  THE EXPLANATION                        111
  XIV  OPENLY AND ABOVEBOARD                  122
   XV  THE RECKONING                          132
  XVI  PLAYING CAVALIER                       140
 XVII  THE EAVESDROPPER                       151
XVIII  DIVIDING THE HONORS                    157
  XIX  RANK INJUSTICE                         167
   XX  THE RISE OF THE FRESHMAN TEAM          182
  XXI  REINSTATEMENT                          197
 XXII  MAKING OTHER PEOPLE HAPPY              210
XXIII  A NEW FRIEND                           224
 XXIV  THE LISTENER                           241
  XXV  THE ACCUSATION                         258
 XXVI  THE STAR WITNESS                       273
XXVII  CONCLUSION                             299

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JANE ALLEN: RIGHT GUARD

CHAPTER I

DAY DREAMS


"Come out of your day dream, Janie, and guess what I have for you."

Hands behind him, Henry Allen stood looking amusedly down at his
daughter.

Stretched full length in a gaily striped hammock swung between two great
trees, her gray eyes dreamily turned toward the distant mountain peaks,
Jane Allen had not heard her father's noiseless approach over the
closely clipped green lawn.

At sound of his voice, she bobbed up from the hammock with an alacrity
that left it swaying wildly.

"Of course I was dreaming, Dad," she declared gaily, making an
ineffectual grab at the hands he held behind him.

"No fair using force," he warned, dexterously eluding her. "This is a
guessing contest. Now which hand will you choose?"

"Both hands, you mean thing!" laughed Jane. "I know what you have in one
of them. It's a letter. Maybe two. Now stand and deliver."

"Here you are."

Obligingly obeying the imperative command, Mr. Allen handed Jane two
letters.

"Oh, joy! Here _you_ are!"

Jane enveloped her father in a bear-like hug, planting a resounding kiss
on his sun-burnt cheek.

"Having played postman, I suppose my next duty is to take myself off and
leave my girl to her letters," was his affectionately smiling comment.

"Not a bit of it, Dad. I'm dying to read these letters. They're from
Judith Stearns and Adrienne Dupree. But even they must wait a little. I
want to talk to _you_, my ownest Dad. Come and sit beside me on that
bench."

Slipping her arm within her father's, Jane gently towed him to a quaint
rustic seat under a magnificent, wide-spreading oak.

"Be seated," she playfully ordered.

Next instant she was beside him on the bench, her russet head against
his broad shoulder.

"Well, girl of mine, what is it? You're not going to tell me, I hope,
that you don't want to go back to college."

Henry Allen humorously referred to another sunlit morning over a year
ago when Jane had corralled him for a private talk that had been in the
nature of a burst of passionate protest against going to college.

"It's just a year ago yesterday, Dad," Jane returned soberly. "What a
horrid person I was to make a fuss and spoil my birthday. But I was only
sixteen, then. I'm seventeen years and one day old now. I'm ever so much
wiser. It's funny but that is really what I wanted to talk to you about.
Going back to Wellington, I mean. I want to go this time. Truly, I do."

"I know it, Janie. I was only teasing you."

Henry Allen smiled down very tenderly at his pretty daughter.

"Of course you were," nodded Jane. "I knew, though, that you were
thinking about last year, when I behaved like a savage. I was thinking
of it, too, as I lay in the hammock looking off toward the mountains.
Dear old Capitan never seemed so wonderful as it does to-day. Yet
somehow, it doesn't hurt me to think of leaving it for a while.

"Last year I felt as though I was being torn up by the roots. This year
I feel all comfy and contented and only a little bit sad. The sad part
is leaving you and Aunt Mary. Still I'm glad to go back to Wellington.
It's as though I had two homes. I wanted to tell you about it, Dad. To
let you know that this year I'm going to try harder than ever to be a
good pioneer."

Raising her head, Jane suddenly sat very straight on the bench, her gray
eyes alive with resolution.

"You don't need to tell me that, Janie." Her father took one of Jane's
slender white hands between his own strong brown ones. "You showed
yourself a real pioneer freshman. They say the freshman year's always
the hardest. I know mine was at Atherton. I was a poor boy, you know,
and had to fight my way. Things were rather different then, though.
There is more comradeship and less snobbishness in college than there
used to be. That is, in colleges for boys. You're better posted than
your old Dad about what they do and are in girls' colleges," he finished
humorously.

"Oh, there are a few snobs at Wellington."

An unbidden frown rose to Jane's smooth forehead. Reference to snobbery
brought up a vision of Marian Seaton's arrogant, self-satisfied
features.

"Most of the girls are splendid, though," she added, brightening. "You
know how much I care for Judy, my roommate, and, oh, lots of others at
Wellington. There's Dorothy Martin, in particular. She stands for all
that is finest and best. You remember I've told you that she looks like
Dearest."

Jane's voice dropped on the last word. Silence fell upon the two as each
thought of the beloved dead.

"Dad, you don't know how much it helped me last year in college to have
Dearest's picture with me," Jane finally said. "It was almost as if she
were right there with me, her own self, and understood everything. I've
never told you before, but there were a good many times when things went
all wrong for me. There were some days when it seemed to me that I
didn't want to try to be a pioneer. I wanted to pull up stakes and run
away. I sha'n't feel that way this year. It will be so different. I'll
walk into Madison Hall and be at home there from the start. I'll have
friends there to welcome----"

Jane's confidences were suddenly interrupted by the appearance of Pedro,
the groom, leading Donabar, Mr. Allen's horse, along the drive.

"I've got to leave you, girl." Mr. Allen rose. "I've an appointment with
Gleason, to look at some cattle he wants to sell me. I'll see you at
dinner to-night. Probably not before then."

With a hasty kiss, dropped on the top of Jane's curly head, her father
strode across the lawn to his horse. Swinging into the saddle, he was
off down the drive, turning only to wave farewell to the white-clad girl
on the beach. Left alone, Jane turned her attention to her letters.

Those who have read "JANE ALLEN OF THE SUB-TEAM" will remember how
bitterly Jane Allen resented leaving her beautiful Western home to go
East to Wellington College. Brought up on a ranch, Jane had known few
girls of her own age. To be thus sent away from all she loved best and
forced to endure the restrictions of a girls' college was a cross which
proud Jane carried during the early part of her freshman year at
Wellington.

Gradually growing to like the girls she had formerly despised, Jane
found friends, tried and true. Being a person of strong character she
also made enemies, among them arrogant, snobbish Marian Seaton, a
freshman of narrow soul and small honor.

Due to her interest in basket-ball, Jane soon found herself fighting
hard to win a position on the freshman team. She also found herself
engaged in a desperate struggle to rule her own rebellious spirit. How
she won the right to play in the deciding game of the year, because of
her high resolve to be true to herself, has already been recorded in her
doings as a freshman at Wellington College.

"You first, Judy," murmured Jane, as she tore open the envelope
containing Judith's letter and eagerly drew it forth.

She smiled as she unfolded the one closely written sheet of thin, gray
paper. Judith never wrote at length. The smile deepened as she read:

     "DEAR OLD JANE:

     "It's about time I answered your last letter. I hope to goodness
     this reaches you before you start East. Then you'll know I love you
     even if I am not a lightning correspondent. I just came home from
     the beach yesterday. I had a wonderful summer, but I'm tanned a
     beautiful brown. I am preparing you beforehand so that you will
     not mistake me for a noble red man, red woman, I mean, when you
     see me.

     "I'm dying to see my faithful roommate and talk my head off. I
     shall bring a whole bunch of eats along with me to Wellington and
     we'll have a grand celebration. Any small contributions which you
     may feel it your duty to drag along will be thankfully received.
     I'm going to start for college a week from next Tuesday. I suppose
     I'll be there ahead of you, so I'll have everything fixed up comfy
     when you poke your distinguished head in the door of our room.

     "I've loads of things to tell you, but I can't write them. You know
     how I love (not) to write letters, themes, etc. You'll just have to
     wait until we get together. If this letter shouldn't reach you
     before you leave El Capitan, you will probably get it some day
     after it has traveled around the country for a while. Won't that be
     nice?

     "With much love, hoping to see you soony soon,

                                           "Your affectionate roommate,

                                           "JUDY."

Jane laughed outright as she re-read the letter. It was so exactly like
good-humored Judy Stearns. She did not doubt that she was destined
presently to hear at least one funny tale from Judith's lips concerning
the latter's pet failing, absent-mindedness.

Picking up Adrienne's letter from the bench, Jane found equal amusement
in the little French girl's quaint phraseology.

     "WICKED ONE:" it began. "Why have you not answered the fond letter
     of your small Imp? But perhaps you have answered, and I have not
     received. _Ma mere_ and I have had the great annoyance since we
     came to this most stupid studio, because much of our mail has gone
     astray.

     "We have finished the posing for the picture 'The Spirit of the
     Dawn.' It was most beautiful. _Ma mere_ was, of course, the Dawn
     Spirit, allowed for one day to become the mortal. She had many
     dances to perform, and was superb in all. I, too, had the dance to
     do in several scenes. When we meet in college I will tell you all.

     "We shall not pose again in these motion pictures for the directors
     are, of a truth, most queer. They talk much, but have the small
     idea of art. It became necessary to quarrel with them frequently,
     otherwise the picture would have contained many ridiculous things.
     It is now past, and, of a certainty, I am glad. I am longing to
     make the return to Wellington. It will be the grand happiness to
     see again all my dear friends, you in particular, beloved Jeanne.

     "_La petite_ Norma will soon finish the engagement with the stock
     company. We have the hope to meet her in New York, so that she and
     your small Imp may make the return together to Wellington. Take the
     good care of yourself, dear Jeanne. With the regards of _ma mere_
     and my most ardent affection,

                                                         "Ever thy IMP."

Jane gave the letter an affectionate little pat. It was almost as though
she had heard lively little Adrienne's voice. How good it was, she
reflected happily, to know that this time she would go East, not as a
lonely outlander, but as one whose place awaited her. There would be
smiling faces and welcoming hands to greet her when she climbed the
steps of Madison Hall. Yes, Wellington was truly her Alma Mater and
Madison Hall her second home.




CHAPTER II

A COUNCIL OF WAR


"What does it all mean? That's the one thing I'd like to know."

Judith Stearns plumped herself down on Ethel Lacey's couch bed with an
energy that bespoke her feelings.

"It is as yet beyond the understanding," gloomily conceded Adrienne
Dupree.

"You'd better go downstairs and see Mrs. Weatherbee at once, Judy,"
advised Ethel.

It was a most amazed and indignant trio which had gathered for a council
of war in the room belonging to Ethel and Adrienne.

"I'm going to," nodded Judith with some asperity. "I have Jane's
telegram here with me. I just stopped for a minute to tell you girls.
Why, Jane will be in on that four o'clock train! A nice tale we'll have
to tell her!"

"Oh, there's surely been a misunderstanding," repeated Ethel Lacey.

Judith shrugged her shoulders.

"It looks queer to me," she said. "You know Mrs. Weatherbee never liked
Jane. It would be just like her----"

Judith paused. A significant stare conveyed untold meaning.

"She couldn't do anything so unfair and get away with it," reasoned
Ethel. "Jane could take up the matter with Miss Howard and make a big
fuss about it."

"She could, but would she?" demanded Judith savagely. "You know how
proud Jane is. She'd die before she'd give Mrs. Weatherbee the
satisfaction of seeing she was hurt over it. She----"

"Oh, what's the use in speculating?" interrupted Ethel. "Go and find
out, Judy. We're probably making much ado about nothing."

"It is I who will go with you," announced Adrienne decidedly. "I am also
the dear friend of Jane."

"Let's all go," proposed Judith. "There's strength in numbers. If Mrs.
Weatherbee hasn't been fair to Jane it will bother her a whole lot to
have three of us take it up."

Adrienne and Ethel concurring in this opinion, the three girls promptly
marched themselves downstairs to the matron's office to inquire into the
matter which had aroused them to take action in Jane Allen's behalf.

Ten minutes later they retired from an interview with Mrs. Weatherbee,
more amazed than when they had entered the matron's office. They were
also proportionately incensed at the reception with which they had met.

"I think she's too hateful for words!" sputtered Judith, the moment the
committee of inquiry had again shut themselves in Ethel's room.

"She might have explained," was Ethel's indignant cry. "I don't believe
that Jane's not coming back to Madison Hall."

"Jane _is_ coming back to Madison Hall," asserted Judith positively.
"She said so in her last letter to me. That is, she spoke of our room
and all. If she hadn't intended coming back, she'd have said something
about it."

"Of a truth she intended to return to this Hall," coincided Adrienne.
"This most hateful Mrs. Weatherbee has perhaps decided thus for herself.
Would it not be the humiliating thing for our _pauvre Jeanne_ to return
and be refused the admittance?"

"That won't happen," decreed Judith grimly.

"We're going to the train to meet her, you know. We'll have to tell her
the minute she sets foot on the station platform."

"But suppose we find that it's true?" propounded Ethel. "That she
doesn't intend to live at the Hall this year? Something might have
happened after she wrote you girls to make her change her mind."

"There's only one thing that I know of and I'd hate to think it was
that," returned Judith soberly. "You know what I mean, that Jane
mightn't care to room with me."

"That is the nonsense," disagreed Adrienne sturdily. "We, who know Jane,
know that it could never be thus. But wait, only wait. We shall, no
doubt, prove this Mrs. Weatherbee to be the g-r-rand villain."

Adrienne's roll of r's, coupled with her surmise as to the disagreeable
matron's villainy, provoked instant mirth.

Downhearted as she was, Judith could not refrain from giggling a little
as her quick imagination visualized in stately, white-haired Mrs.
Weatherbee the approved stage villain.

"We'll just have to wait and see," declared placid Ethel. "It's after
two now. Let's take a bus into Chesterford and see the sights until
train time. We'll be on pins and needles every minute if we sit around
here."

"I'm going without a hat. I just can't bear to go back to my room for
one. I guess you know why," shrugged Judith.

"It is the great shame," sympathized Adrienne. "I am indeed sad that our
Dorothy has not returned. She could perhaps learn from Mrs. Weatherbee
what we cannot."

"I wish Dorothy _were_ here," sighed Judith. "A lot of the girls haven't
come back yet. I thought I'd be late, but I'm here early after all. Too
bad Norma couldn't come on from New York with you."

"It was most sad." Adrienne rolled her big black eyes. "She has yet one
more week with the stock company. _La petite_ has done well. She has
received many excellent notices. Next summer she will no doubt be the
leading woman. She has the heaven-sent talent, even as _ma mere_."

"Alicia Reynolds is back," announced Judith. "I met her coming in with
her luggage about an hour ago. She was awfully cordial to me. That means
she's still of the same mind as when she left Wellington last June.
She's really a very nice girl. I only hope she stays away from Marian
Seaton."

"Neither Marian nor Maizie Gilbert have come back yet. I wish they'd stay
away," came vengefully from Ethel. "With Alicia and Edith Hammond both
on their good behavior Madison Hall would get along swimmingly without
those two disturbers."

"They'll probably keep to themselves this year," commented Judith
grimly. "It's pretty well known here how badly they treated Jane last
year and how splendidly she carried herself through it all."

"Oh, the old girls at the Hall won't bother with them, but some of the
new girls may," Ethel remarked. "We're to have several new ones."

"There'll be one less new girl if I have anything to say about it,"
vowed Judith. "If there's been any unfairness done, little Judy will
take a prompt hike over to see Miss Rutledge."

"Jane wouldn't like that," demurred Ethel.

"Can't help it. I'd just have to do it," Judith made obstinate reply.
"As Jane's roommate I think I've a case of my own. If Jane has chosen to
room somewhere else--then, all right. But if she hasn't--if she's been
treated shabbily,--as I believe she has been--then I'll go wherever she
goes, even if I have to live in a house away off the campus."




CHAPTER III

BAD NEWS


"Oh, girls, it's good to be back!"

Surrounded by a welcoming trio of white-gowned girls, Jane Allen clung
affectionately to them.

All along the station platform, bevies of merry-faced, daintily dressed
young women were engaged in the joyful occupation of greeting classmates
who had arrived on the four o'clock train. Here and there, committees of
upper class girls were extending friendly hands to timid freshmen just
set down in the outskirts of the land of college.

Stepping down from the train Jane had been instantly seized by her
energetic chums and smothered in a triangular embrace. A mist had risen
to her gray eyes at the warmth of the welcome. She was, indeed, no
longer the lonely outlander. It was all so different from last year and
so delightful.

"It's good to have you back, perfectly dear old Jane!" emphasized
Judith, giving Jane an extra hug to measure her joy at sight of the girl
she adored.

"What happiness!" gurgled Adrienne. "We had the g-r-r-r-eat anxiety for
fear that you would perhaps not come on this train."

"Oh, I telegraphed Judy from St. Louis on a venture," laughed Jane. "I
knew she'd be here ahead of me."

"Then you did receive my letter," Judith said with satisfaction. "I was
afraid you mightn't."

"I didn't answer it because I was coming East so soon," apologized Jane.
"I took your advice, though, about the eats. There was a stop over at
St. Louis, so I went out and bought a suitcase full of boxed stuff.
Maybe it isn't heavy! We'll have a great spread in our room to-night.
Who's back, Judy? Have you seen Christine Ellis or Barbara Temple yet?
Is Mary Ashton here? I know Dorothy isn't or she'd be here with you."

As Jane rattled off these lively remarks, her three friends exchanged
significant eye messages.

"Then--why--you----" stammered Judith, a swift flush rising to her
cheeks.

"What's the matter, Judy?"

Jane regarded her roommate in puzzled fashion. She wondered at Judith's
evident confusion.

"Nothing much. I mean something rather queer." Judith contradicted
herself. "Let's take a taxi, girls, and stop at Rutherford Inn for tea.
We can talk there."

"But why not go straight to Madison Hall?" queried Jane, in growing
perplexity. "I'm anxious to get rid of some of the smoke and dust I've
collected on my face and hands. We can have tea and talk in our own room
and be all by ourselves."

"I wish we could, Jane, but we must have a talk with you before you go
to the Hall," returned Judith, her merry features now grown grave.

"What is it, Judy?"

All the brightness had faded from Jane's face. Her famous scowl now
darkened her brow. She cast a quick glance from Adrienne to Ethel. Both
girls looked unduly solemn.

"Girls, you're keeping something from me; something unpleasant, of
course," Jane accused. "I must know what it is. Please tell me. Don't be
afraid of hurting my feelings."

"We're going to tell you, Jane," Judith said reassuringly. "Only we
didn't want to say a word until--until we found out something. But this
isn't the place to talk. Let's hail the taxi, anyway. Then he can stop
at the Inn or not, just as you please. We'll tell you on the way there."

"All right."

Almost mechanically Jane reached down to pick up the suitcase she had
placed on the station platform in the first moment of reunion. All the
pleasure of coming back to Wellington had been replaced by a sense of
deep depression. In spite of the presence of her chums she felt now as
she had formerly felt when just a year before she had stood on that same
platform, hating with all her sore heart its group of laughing, chatting
girls.

"Do not look so cross, _cherie_." Adrienne had slipped a soft hand into
Jane's arm. "All will yet be well. Come, I, your Imp, will lead you to
the taxicab."

"And I'll help do the leading," declared Judith gaily, taking hold of
Jane's free arm. "Ethel, you can walk behind and carry Jane's traveling
bag. That will be some little honor."

Knowing precisely how Jane felt, Judith affected a cheeriness she was
far from feeling. She heartily wished that she had not been obliged to
say a word to rob her roommate of the first joy of meeting.

While traversing the few yards that lay between the station and the
point behind it where several taxicabs waited, both she and Adrienne
chattered lively commonplaces. Jane, however, had little to say. She was
experiencing the dazed sensation of one who has received an unexpected
slap in the face.

What had happened? Why had Judy insisted that they must have a talk
before going on to the Hall? Surely some very unpleasant news lay in
wait for her ears. But what? Jane had not the remotest idea.

"Now, Judy," she began with brusque directness the instant the quartette
were seated in the taxicab, "don't keep me in the dark any longer. You
must know how--what a queer feeling all this has given me."

Seated in the tonneau of the automobile, between Adrienne and Judith,
Jane turned hurt eyes on the latter.

"Jane," began Judith impressively, "before you went home last year did
you arrange with Mrs. Weatherbee about your room for this year?"

"Why, yes."

A flash of amazement crossed Jane's face.

"Of course I did," she went on. "Mrs. Weatherbee understood that I was
coming back to Madison Hall."

"Humph!" ejaculated Judith. "Well, there's just this much about it,
Jane. About nine o'clock this morning a little, black-eyed scrap of a
freshman marched into my room and said Mrs. Weatherbee had assigned her
to the other half of my room. I told her she had made a mistake and come
to the wrong room. She said 'no,' that Mrs. Weatherbee had sent the maid
to the door with her to show her the way."

"Why, Judy, I don't see how----" began Jane, then suddenly broke off
with, "Go on and tell me the rest."

"I didn't like this girl for a cent. Her name is Noble, but it doesn't
fit her. She has one of those prying, detestable faces, thin, with a
sharp chin, and she hates to look one straight in the face," continued
Judith disgustedly. "I went over to see Adrienne and Ethel and told
them. Then we all went downstairs to interview Mrs. Weatherbee. She said
you weren't coming back to Madison Hall this year."

"Not coming back to Madison Hall!" exclaimed Jane, her scowl now in
fierce evidence. "Did _she_ say it in just those words?"

"She certainly did," responded Judith. "I told her that I was sure that
you were and she simply froze up and gave me one of those Arctic-circle
stares. All she said was, 'I am surprised at you, Miss Stearns. I am not
in the habit of making incorrect statements.' Adrienne started to ask
her when you had given up your room and she cut her off with: 'Young
ladies, the subject is closed.' So that's all we know about it, and I
guess you don't know any more of it than we do."

"So _that_ was why you didn't want me to go on to the Hall until I
knew," Jane said slowly. "Well, I know now, and I'm going straight
there. Mrs. Weatherbee has never liked me. Still it's a rather
high-handed proceeding on her part, I think."

"If she did it of her own accord, I don't see how she dared. I'm not
going to stand for it. That's all," burst out Judith hotly. "Miss Howard
won't either. As registrar she'll have something to say, I guess. If she
doesn't, then on to Miss Rutledge. That's going to be my motto. I won't
have that girl in your place, Jane. I _won't_."

"I won't let her stay there if I can help it," was Jane's decided
answer. "I'd rather the affair would be between Mrs. Weatherbee and me,
though. If she has done this from prejudice, I'll fight for my rights.
It won't be the first time she and I have had words. It seems hard to
believe that a woman of her age and position could be so contemptible."

"That's what I thought," agreed Judith. "Well, we'll soon know. Here we
are at the edge of the campus. Doesn't old Wellington look fine, though,
Jane?"

Jane merely nodded. She could not trust herself to speak. The gently
rolling green of the wide campus had suddenly burst upon her view. Back
among the trees, Wellington Hall lifted its massive gray pile, lording
it in splendid grandeur over the buildings of lesser magnitude that
dotted the living green.

She had longed for a sight of it all. It was as though she had suddenly
come upon a dear friend. For a moment the perplexities of the situation
confronting her faded away as her gray eyes wandered from one familiar
point on the campus to another.

"It's wonderful, Judy," she said softly, her tones quite steady. "Even
with this horrid tangle staring me in the face I can't help being glad
to see Wellington again. Somehow, I can't help feeling that there's been
a mistake made. I don't want to pass through the gates of Wellington
with my heart full of distrust of anyone."

"You're a dear, Jane!" was Judith's impulsive tribute. "Adrienne says
Mrs. Weatherbee may turn out to be 'the grand villain.' Let's hope she
won't. Anyway, if things can't be adjusted, wherever you go to live I'll
go, too. I won't stay at the Hall without you."

"Thank you, Judy." Jane found Judith's hand and squeezed it hard. She
had inwardly determined, however, that her roommate should not make any
such sacrifice. It would be hard to find a room anywhere on the campus
to take the place of the one the two had occupied at Madison Hall during
their freshman year.

"I'm glad there's no one on the veranda," presently commented Jane.

Having dismissed the taxicab, the three girls were now ascending the
steps of the Hall.

"Better wait here for me, girls, I'd rather have it out with Mrs.
Weatherbee alone," she counseled. "I hope I sha'n't lose my temper," she
added ruefully.

Mentally bracing herself for the interview, Jane crossed the threshold
of the Hall and walked serenely past the living-room to the matron's
office just behind it. She was keeping a tight grip on herself and
intended to keep it, if possible. She knew from past experience how
greatly Mrs. Weatherbee's calm superiority of manner had been wont to
irritate her.

Jane loathed the idea of having a dispute with the matron the moment she
entered Madison Hall. She had begun the first day of her freshman year
in such fashion. Afterward it had seemed to her that most of the others
had been stormy, as a consequence of a wrong start.

She reflected as she walked slowly down the hall that this new trouble,
was, at least, not of her making. She had the comforting knowledge that
this time she was not at fault.




CHAPTER IV

THE REASON WHY


Primed for the momentous interview, Jane was doomed to disappointment.
The matron's office was empty of its usual occupant.

"Oh, bother!" was her impatient exclamation. "I'll either have to wait
for her or go and find her. I'll go back to the veranda and tell the
girls," she decided. "Then I'll come here again. Mrs. Weatherbee may not
be in the Hall for all I know."

"Back so soon. What did she say?"

Judith sprang eagerly from the wicker chair in which she had been
lounging.

"She is not there," returned Jane with a shadow of a frown. "I'm sorry.
I wanted to see her and get it over with. Where's Ethel?"

"Oh, she forgot that she had an appointment with Miss Howard. She
rushed off in a hurry."

"Mrs. Weatherbee has perhaps gone to make the call," suggested Adrienne.
"Why do you not ring the bell and thus summon the maid?"

"A good idea."

Standing near the door, Jane's fingers found the electric bell and
pressed it.

"Where is Mrs. Weatherbee?" she inquired of the maid who presently came
to answer the door. "Isn't Millie here any more?" she added, noting that
a stranger occupied the place of the good-natured girl who had been at
the Hall during Jane's freshman year.

"No, miss. She's gone and got married. Did you want Mrs. Weatherbee?
She's upstairs. I'll go and find her for you."

"Thank you. If you will be so kind. Please tell her Miss Allen wishes to
see her."

Disturbed in mind, though she was, Jane replied with a graciousness she
never forgot to employ in speaking to those in more humble circumstances
than herself. It was a part of the creed her democratic father had
taught her and she tried to live up to it.

"Wish me luck, girls, I'm going to my fate. Wait for me," she said
lightly and vanished into the house.

"She's taking it like a brick," Judith admiringly commented.

"Ah, yes. Jane is what _mon pere_ would call 'the good sport,'" agreed
Adrienne. "She is the strange girl; sometimes fierce like the lion over
the small troubles. When come the great misfortunes she has calm
courage."

Re-entering Mrs. Weatherbee's office, Jane seated herself resignedly to
wait for the appearance of the matron. When fifteen minutes had passed
and she was still waiting, the stock of "calm courage" attributed to her
by Adrienne, began to dwindle into nettled impatience.

She now wished that she had not given her name to the maid. It looked as
if Mrs. Weatherbee were purposely keeping her waiting. This thought
stirred afresh in Jane the old antagonism that the matron had always
aroused.

After half an hour had dragged by Jane heard footsteps descending the
stairs to the accompaniment of the faint rustle of silken skirts. She
sat suddenly very straight in her chair, her mood anything but
lamb-like.

"Good afternoon, Miss Allen," greeted a cool voice.

Mrs. Weatherbee rustled into the little office, injured dignity written
on every feature of her austere face.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Weatherbee."

Courtesy to an older woman prompted Jane to rise. Her tone, however, was
one of strained politeness. There was no move made toward handshaking by
either.

"I was greatly surprised to learn that _you_ wished to see me, Miss
Allen," was the matron's first remark after seating herself in the chair
before her writing desk.

Mrs. Weatherbee's intonations were decidedly accusing. Jane colored at
the emphasis placed on the "you."

"Why should you be surprised?" she flashed back, an angry glint in her
gray eyes. Already her good resolutions were poised for flight.

"I am even more surprised at the boldness of your question. I consider
it as being in extremely bad taste."

"And I am surprised at the way I have been treated!" Jane cried out
passionately, her last remnant of patience exhausted. "I understand that
you have seen fit to ignore the arrangement I made with you last June
about my room. Miss Stearns has informed me that you have given it to an
entering freshman. It's the most unfair proceeding I've ever known, and
I shall not submit to such injustice."

This was not in the least what Jane had purposed to say. She had
intended to broach the subject on the diplomatic basis of a mistake
having been made. She realized that she had thrown down the gauntlet
with a vengeance, but she was now too angry to care.

"_Miss Allen!_" The older woman's expression was one of intense
severity. "Such insolence on your part is not only unbecoming but
entirely uncalled for. You appear to have forgotten that you gave up
your room of your own accord. I reserved it for you until I received
your letter of last week."

"Of my _own accord_!" gasped Jane, unable to believe she had heard
aright. "My letter of last week! I don't understand."

"I am at a loss to understand _you_," acidly retorted the matron. "I
know of only one possible explanation for your call upon me this
afternoon. I should prefer not to make it. It would hardly reflect to
your credit."

"I must ask you to explain," insisted Jane haughtily. "We have evidently
been talking at cross purposes. You say that I gave up my room of my own
accord. You mention a letter I wrote you. I have _not_ given up my
room. I have _never_ written you a letter. You owe me an explanation. No
matter how unpleasant it may be, I am not afraid to listen to it."

"Very well," was the icy response. "Since you insist I will say plainly
that it appears, even after writing me a most discourteous letter, you
must have decided, for reasons of your own, to ignore this fact and
return to Madison Hall. Not reckoning that your room would naturally be
assigned to another girl so soon, you were bold enough to come here and
attempt to carry your point with a high hand. I am quite sure you now
understand me."

"I do not," came the vehement denial. "I repeat that I never wrote you a
letter. If you received one signed by me, it was certainly not I who
wrote it. I am not surprised at your unfair opinion of me. You have
never liked me. Naturally you could not understand me. I will ask you to
let me see the letter."

Mrs. Weatherbee's reply was not made in words. Reaching into a
pigeon-hole of her desk she took from it a folded letter minus its
envelope and handed it to Jane.

Her head in a whirl, Jane unfolded it and read:

     "MRS. ELLEN WEATHERBEE,
     "Madison Hall,
     "Wellington Campus.

     "Dear Madam:

     "Although I regret leaving Madison Hall, it would be highly
     disagreeable to me to spend my sophomore year in it with you as
     matron. Your treatment of me last year was such that I should not
     like to court a second repetition of it. Therefore I am writing to
     inform you that I shall not return to the Hall.

                                                           "Yours truly,

                                                           "JANE ALLEN."




CHAPTER V

THE UNKNOWN MISCHIEF MAKER


"This is too dreadful!"

Springing to her feet, Jane dashed the offending letter to the floor,
her cheeks scarlet with outraged innocence.

"That was precisely my opinion when I read it," Mrs. Weatherbee
sarcastically agreed.

"But I never wrote it," stormed Jane. "That's not my signature. Besides
the letter is typed. I would never have sent you a typed letter. Have
you the envelope? What postmark was stamped upon it?"

"It was postmarked 'New York.' No, I did not keep the envelope."

"New York? Why, I came straight from Montana!" cried Jane. "I haven't
been in New York since last Christmas."

"I could not possibly know that. A letter could be forwarded even from
Montana to New York for mailing," reminded the matron with satirical
significance.

"Then you still believe that I wrote _this_?"

Jane's voice was freighted with hurt pride. Something in the girl's
scornful, fearless, gray eyes, looking her through and through, brought
a faint flush to the matron's set face. The possibility that Jane's
protest was honest had reluctantly forced itself upon her. She was not
specially anxious to admit Jane's innocence, though she was now half
convinced of it.

"I hardly know what to believe," she said curtly. "Your denial of the
authorship of this letter seems sincere. I should naturally prefer to
believe that you did not write it."

"I give you my word of honor as a Wellington girl that I did _not_,"
Jane answered impressively. "I cannot blame you for resenting it. It is
most discourteous. I should be sorry to believe myself capable of such
rudeness."

"I will accept your statement," Mrs. Weatherbee stiffly conceded.
"However, the fact remains that _someone_ wrote and mailed this letter
to me. There is but one inference to be drawn from it."

She paused and stared hard at Jane.

Without replying, Jane again perused the fateful letter. As she
finished a second reading of it, a bitter smile dawned upon her mobile
lips.

"Yes," she said heavily. "There is just one inference to be drawn from
it--spite work. I had no idea that it would be carried to this length,
though."

"Then you suspect a particular person as having written it?" sharply
inquired the matron.

"I do," came the steady response. "I know of but one, perhaps two
persons, who might have done so. I am fairly sure that it lies between
the two."

"It naturally follows then that the person or persons you suspect are
students at Wellington," commented the matron. "This is a matter that
would scarcely concern outsiders. More, we may go further and narrow the
circle down to Madison Hall."

Jane received this pointed surmise in absolute silence.

"There is this much about it, Miss Allen," the older woman continued
after a brief pause, "I will not have under my charge a girl who would
stoop to such a contemptible act against a sister student. I must ask
you to tell me frankly if your suspicions point to anyone under this
roof."

"I can't answer that question, Mrs. Weatherbee. I mean I don't wish to
answer it. Even if I knew positively who had done this, I'd be silent
about it. It's my way of looking at it and I can't change. I'd rather
drop the whole matter. It's hard, of course, to give up my room here and
go somewhere else. I love Madison Hall and----"

Jane came to an abrupt stop. She was determined not to break down, yet
she was very near to it.

"My dear child, you need not leave Madison Hall unless you wish to do
so." Mrs. Weatherbee's frigidity had miraculously vanished. A gleam of
kindly purpose had appeared in her eyes.

For the first time since her acquaintance with Jane Allen she found
something to admire. For the sake of a principle, this complex,
self-willed girl, of whom she had ever disapproved, was willing to
suffer injury in silence. The fact that Jane had refused to answer her
question lost significance when compared with the motive which had
prompted refusal.

"You might easily accuse me of unfairness if I allowed matters to remain
as they are," pursued the matron energetically. "As the injured party
you have first right to your old room. Miss Noble, the young woman now
occupying it with Miss Stearns, applied for a room here by letter on the
very next day after I received this letter, supposedly from you.

"I wrote her that I had a vacancy here and asked for references. These
she forwarded immediately. As it happens I have another unexpected
vacancy here due to the failure of a new girl to pass her entrance
examinations. Miss Noble will no doubt be quite willing to take the
other room. At all events, you shall have your own again."

"I can't begin to tell you how much I thank you, Mrs. Weatherbee."
Jane's somber face had lightened into radiant gratitude. "But I _can_
tell you that I'm sorry for my part in any misunderstandings we've had
in the past. I don't feel about college now as I did last year."

Carried away by her warm appreciation of the matron's unlooked-for stand
in her behalf, Jane found herself telling Mrs. Weatherbee of her
pre-conceived hatred of college and of her gradual awakening to a
genuine love for Wellington.

Of the personal injuries done her by others she said nothing. Her little
outpouring had to do only with her own struggle for spiritual growth.

"It was Dorothy Martin who first showed me the way," she explained. "She
made me see myself as a pioneer, and college as a new country. She told
me that it depended entirely on me whether or not my freshman claim
turned out well. It took me a long time to see that. This year I want to
be a better pioneer than I was last. That's why I'd rather not start out
by getting someone else into trouble, no matter how much that person is
at fault."

During the earnest recital, the matron's stern features had perceptibly
softened. She was reflecting that, after all, one person was never free
to judge another. That human nature was in itself far too complex to be
lightly judged by outward appearances.

"You know the old saying, 'Out of evil some good is sure to come,'" she
said, when Jane ceased speaking. "This affair of the letter has already
produced one good result. I feel that I am beginning to know the real
Jane Allen. You were right in saying that I never understood you.
Perhaps I did not try. I don't know. You were rather different from any
other girl whom I ever had before under my charge here."

"I kept up the bars," confessed Jane ruefully. "I didn't wish to see
things from any standpoint except my own. I'm trying to break myself of
that. I can't honestly say that I have, as yet. I shall probably have a
good many fights with myself about it this year. It's not easy to make
one's self over in a day or a month or a year. It takes time. That's why
I like college so much now. It's helping me to find myself.

"But that's enough about myself." Jane made a little conclusive gesture.
"I hope there won't be any--well--any unpleasantness about my room, Mrs.
Weatherbee. I'd almost rather take that other vacancy than make trouble
for you."

"There will be no trouble," was the decisive assurance. "If Miss Noble
objects to the change there are other campus houses open to her. I see
no reason why she should. She only arrived this morning. She will not be
kept waiting for the room. The girl who failed in her examinations left
here at noon. I will see about it now."

Mrs. Weatherbee rose to put her promise into immediate effect.

"If you don't mind, I'll join Judith and Adrienne on the veranda. I am
anxious to tell them the good news," eagerly declared Jane, now on her
feet.

Glancing at the disturbing letter which she held she handed it to Mrs.
Weatherbee with: "What shall you do about this letter?"

"Since the star witness in the case refuses to give testimony, it is
hard to decide what to do," smiled the matron. "I might hand the letter
to Miss Rutledge, yet I prefer not to do so. It is purely a personal
matter. Suppose I were to prosecute an inquiry here at the Hall
regarding it. It would yield nothing but indignant protests of
innocence. If the writer were one of my girls she would perhaps be
loudest in her protests."

Though Jane did not say so, she was of the private opinion that the
person she suspected would undoubtedly do that very thing.

"A girl who would write such a letter would be the last to own to
writing it," she said dryly.

"Very true. Still things sometimes work out unexpectedly. If we have a
mischief maker here, we may eventually discover her. Girls of this type
often overreach themselves and thus establish their guilt. I shall not
forget this affair." The matron's voice grew stern. "If ever I do
discover the writer, she will not be allowed to remain at Madison
Hall."




CHAPTER VI

THE PLOT THICKENS


"And Mrs. Weatherbee's gone to oust the disturber of our peace! Oh,
joy!"

To emphasize further her satisfaction Judith gave Jane an ecstatic hug.

"You can't be any gladder than I am."

Jane returned the hug with interest.

"But how did it thus happen so beautifully?" questioned Adrienne
eagerly.

"It was a mistake----No, it wasn't either. It was----"

Jane paused. She wondered if she had the right to put her friends in
possession of what she had so lately learned. Mrs. Weatherbee had not
enjoined silence. Adrienne and Judith were absolutely trustworthy. They
had forewarned her of the situation. It was only fair that they should
be taken into her confidence.

"I've something to tell you girls," she went on slowly. "You must wait
to hear it until we are in our room. I'd rather not go into it out here
on the veranda."

"All right. We'll be good. I hope the noble Miss Noble will hurry up and
move out," wished Judith. "I can imagine how delighted she'll be."

"She may care but little," shrugged Adrienne. "Of a truth, she has not
been here so long. But a few hours! It is not much!"

"I don't believe she'll relish it a bit," prophesied Judith. "She looks
to me like one of those persons who get peeved over nothing. Isn't it
funny, though? Mrs. Weatherbee made a mistake last year about your room,
Jane. Do you remember how haughty you were when you found out you were
to room with little Judy?"

"Yes. I was a big goose, wasn't I?" Jane smiled reminiscently. "It
wasn't Mrs. Weatherbee's fault this time. That's all I'll say until we
three go upstairs."

"Wish she'd hurry," grumbled Judith, referring to the usurping freshman.
"This evacuation business isn't going along very speedily. I wonder if
she's unpacked. She hadn't touched her suitcase when I left her. Her
trunk hadn't come yet. Maybe it came while we were out. I hope not.
Then there'll be that much less to move."

"Had this Miss Noble examinations to take?" asked Jane.

"No, she told me she was graduated from a prep school last June.
Burleigh, I think she said. I really didn't listen much to her. I was so
upset over having her thrust upon me, I didn't want to talk to her."

"Poor Judy."

Jane bestowed a sympathizing pat upon Judith's arm.

"All the time I was thinking 'poor Jane,'" laughed Judith. "Oh, dear!
Why doesn't Mrs. Weatherbee come back. I'm crazy to hear the weird story
of your wrongs, Janie."

It was at least fifteen minutes afterward before the matron descended
the stairs, looking far from pleased.

Watching for her, Jane stepped inside the house and met her at the foot
of the stairs.

"You may move in as soon as you please, Miss Allen," she informed Jane,
her annoyed expression vanishing in a friendly smile.

"Thank you. I sha'n't lose any time in doing it."

Jane returned the smile, thinking in the same moment that it seemed
rather odd but decidedly nice to be on such pleasant terms with the
woman she had once thoroughly disliked.

"Did you notice how vexed Mrs. Weatherbee looked when she came
downstairs?" was Judith's remark as the door of her room closed behind
them. "I'll bet she had her own troubles with the usurper."

"First the disturber, then the usurper. You have, indeed, many names for
this one poor girl," giggled Adrienne.

"Oh, I can think of a lot more," grinned Judith. "But what's the use.
She has departed bag and baggage. To quote your own self, 'It is
sufficient.' Now go ahead, Jane, and spin your yarn."

"It's no yarn. It's sober truth. You understand. I'm speaking in strict
confidence."

With this foreword, Jane acquainted the two girls with what had taken
place in the matron's office.

"Hm!" sniffed Judith as Jane finished. "She's begun rather early in the
year, hasn't she?"

"I see we're of the same mind, Judy," Jane said quietly.

"I, too, am of that same mind," broke in Adrienne. "I will say to you
now most plainly that it was Marian Seaton who wrote the letter."

"Of course she wrote it," emphasized Judith fiercely. "It's the most
outrageous thing I ever heard of. You ought to have told Mrs.
Weatherbee, Jane. Why should you shield a girl who is trying to injure
you?"

"I could only have said that I _suspected_ her of writing the letter,"
Jane pointed out. "I have no proof that she wrote it. Besides, I didn't
care to start my sophomore year that way. When I have anything to say
about Marian Seaton, I'll say it to her. I'm going to steer clear of her
if I can. If I can't, then she and I will have to come to an
understanding one of these days. I'd rather ignore her, unless I find
that I can't."

"You're a queer girl," was Judith's half-vexed opinion. "I think, if I
were in your place, I'd begin at the beginning and tell Mrs. Weatherbee
every single thing about last year. I'd tell her I was _positive_ Marian
Seaton wrote that letter. She'd be angry enough to tax Marian with it,
even though she made quite a lot of Marian and Maizie Gilbert last year.
If Marian got scared and confessed--good night! She'd have to leave
Madison Hall. We'd all be better off on account of it."

"No, _ma chere_ Judy, you are in that quite wrong," disagreed Adrienne.
"This Marian would never make the confession. Instead she would make the
great fuss. She would, of a truth, say that Jane had made the plot to
injure her. She is most clever in such matters."

"I'm not afraid of anything she might say," frowned Jane. "I simply
don't care to bother any more about it. I have my half of this room back
and that's all that really matters. If Marian Seaton thinks----"

The sudden opening of the door cut Jane's speech in two. Three surprised
pairs of eyes rested on a sharp-chinned, black-eyed girl who had
unceremoniously marched into their midst. Face and bearing both
indicated signs of active hostility.

"Did I hear you mention Marian Seaton's name?" she sharply inquired of
Jane.

"You did."

Jane gazed levelly at the angry newcomer.

"Which of these two girls is Miss Allen?"

This question was rudely addressed to Judith, whose good-natured face
showed evident disgust of the interrogator.

"I am Jane Allen. Why do you ask?"

Jane spoke with curt directness.

"I supposed that you were." The girl smiled scornfully. "I only wished
to make sure before telling you my opinion of you. It did not surprise
me to learn that it was _you_ who turned me out of my room. I had
already been warned against you by my cousin, Marian Seaton. No doubt
you've been saying spiteful things about her. I know just how shabbily
you treated her last year. If she had been here to-day, you wouldn't
have been allowed to take my room away from me. She has more influence
at Wellington than you have. She will be here soon and then we'll see
what will happen. That's all except that you are a selfish, hateful
troublemaker."

With every word she uttered the black-eyed girl's voice had risen.
Overmastered by anger she fairly screamed the final sentence of her
arraignment. Then she turned and bolted from the room, leaving behind
her a dumbfounded trio of young women.

"Brr!" ejaculated Judith. "What do you think of that? I'm sure I could
have heard that last shriek, if I'd been away over on the campus. Marian
Seaton's cousin! Think what Judy escaped!"

"You are very funny, Judy," giggled Adrienne. "And that girl! How
little repose; what noise!"

"Yes, 'what noise,'" Judith echoed the giggle. "Really, girls, am I
awake or do I dream? First a strange and awful girl comes walking in on
me. Then I learn the pleasant news that Jane's deserted me. Along comes
Jane, who doesn't know she's lost her home. Enter Marian Seaton as a
letter writer. Result Jane and Mrs. Weatherbee become bosom friends.
Jane is vindicated and her rights restored. Right in the middle of a
happy reunion in bounces the tempestuous Miss Noble. Quite a little like
a nightmare, isn't it?"

"It has the likeness to the movie plot," asserted Adrienne mirthfully.
"Very thrilling and much mixed."

"I never dreamed coming back to Wellington would be like this."

Jane smiled. Nevertheless the words came with a touch of sadness.

"Don't let it worry you, Jane," counseled Judith. "I was only fooling
when I said this afternoon had been like a nightmare. You may not have
another like this the whole year. Things always happen in bunches, you
know. I move that we re-beautify our charming selves and go down to the
veranda. We'll be on hand if any of the girls arrive. There's a train
from the east at five-thirty. Dorothy may be on that."

"I hope she is," sighed Jane.

Mention of Dorothy Martin made Jane long for a sight of the gentle,
whole-souled girl whom she so greatly loved and admired.

"Go ahead, Jane, and change your gown. I'll unpack your bag for you,"
offered Judith. "Beloved Imp here may help, if she's very good."

"Thank you, Judy."

Jane began an absent unfastening of her pongee traveling gown,
preparatory to bathing her throat, face and hands, dusty from the
journey.

While her two friends laughed and chattered as they unpacked her bag,
she gave herself up to somber reflection. The events of the afternoon
had left her with a feeling of heavy depression. Why, when she desired
so earnestly to do well and be happy, must the ancient enmity of Marian
Seaton be dragged into her very first day at Wellington. Was this a
forerunner of what the rest of her sophomore days were destined to be?




CHAPTER VII

AN UNPLEASANT TABLEMATE


Despite the unpropitious events of the afternoon, evening saw a merry
little party in full swing in Judith's and Jane's room.

Barbara Temple and Christine Ellis came over from Argyle Hall. The
five-thirty train had brought not only Dorothy Martin but Mary Ashton as
well. Eight o'clock saw them calling on Judith and Jane, along
with Adrienne and Ethel. Of the old clan, Norma Bennett alone was
absent, a loss which was loudly lamented by all.

So swiftly did time fly that the party ended in a mad scurry to comply
with the inexorable half-past ten o'clock rule.

Jane went to bed that night considerably lighter of heart. Reunion with
the girls who were nearest to her had driven the afternoon's
unpleasantness from her thoughts, for the time being at least. The
friendly presence of those she loved had proved a powerful antidote.

A night's sound sleep served to separate her further from the
disagreeable incidents of the previous day. She had two things, at
least, to be glad of, she reflected, as she dressed next morning. She
was back in her own room. More, she now stood on an entirely different
footing with Mrs. Weatherbee than heretofore.

This last was brought home to her more strongly than ever when, in going
down to breakfast, she passed the matron on her way to the dining-room
and received a smiling "Good morning, Miss Allen."

It was at decided variance with the reserved manner in which Mrs.
Weatherbee had formerly been wont to greet her.

"Well, we are once again at the same table," remarked Adrienne as Jane
slipped into the place at table she had occupied during her freshman
year. "Until last night I ate the meals alone. It was _triste_."

Adrienne's profound air of melancholy made both Jane and Dorothy laugh.

"What made you come back to college so early, dear Imp?" questioned
Dorothy, smiling indulgently at the little girl.

"I had the longing to see the girls," Adrienne replied simply. "This
past summer I have greatly missed all of you."

"We've all missed one another, I guess," Jane said soberly. "Often out
on the ranch I've wished you could all be with me. Next summer you must
come. I'm going to give a house party."

"What rapture!" Adrienne clasped her small hands. "I, for one, will
accept the invitation, and now."

Somewhat to Jane's surprise Dorothy said not a word. She merely stared
at Jane, a curiously wistful expression in her gray eyes.

"Don't you want to come to my house party, Dorothy?"

Though the question was playfully asked it held a hint of pained
surprise.

"Of course I'd like to come. I will--if I can." This last was added with
a little sigh. "Did you bring Firefly East with you, this year, Jane?"
she inquired with abrupt irrelevance.

"Yes. Pedro started East ahead of me with Firefly. They haven't arrived
yet. Are you going to ride this year, Dorothy?"

Jane was wondering what had occasioned in Dorothy this new, wistful
mood. It was entirely unlike her usual blithe, care-free self.

"I'm afraid not." The shadow on Dorothy's fine face had deepened.
"Frankly, I can't afford to keep a riding horse here. I don't mind
telling just you two that it was a question with me as to whether I
ought to come back to college. We were never rich, you know, just in
comfortable circumstances. This summer Father met with financial losses
and we're almost poor. Both Father and Mother were determined that I
should come back to Wellington on account of it being my last year. So
I'm here. I've not brought any new clothes with me, though, and I shall
have to be very economical."

Dorothy smiled bravely as she made this frank confession.

"Who cares whether your clothes are new of old, Dorothy?" came
impulsively from Jane. "It's having you here that counts. Nothing else
matters. I'm ever so sorry that your father has met with such
misfortune."

"Ah, yes! I too, have the sorrow that such bad luck has come to your
father. _We_ are the lucky ones, because you have come back to us,"
Adrienne agreed impressively.

"You're dears, both of you. Shake hands."

Her eyes eloquent with affection, Dorothy's hand went out to Jane, then
to Adrienne.

"We try to be like you, _ma chere_," was Adrienne's graceful response.

"That's very pretty, Imp," acknowledged Dorothy, flushing. "I'll have to
watch my step to merit that compliment. Now that you've heard the sad
story of the poverty-stricken senior, I call for a change of subject.
Did you know that Edith Hammond isn't coming back?"

"She isn't!"

Jane looked her surprise at this unexpected bit of news.

"No. Edith is going to be married," Dorothy informed. "She was
heart-whole and fancy-free when she left here last June. Then she went
with her family to the Catskills for the summer. She met her fate there;
a young civil engineer. They're to be married in November. She wrote me
a long letter right after she became betrothed. Later I received a card
announcing her engagement."

"I hope she'll be very happy," Jane spoke with evident sincerity. "I'm
so glad we grew to be friendly before college closed last June. It was
awfully awkward and embarrassing for us when we had to sit opposite
each other at this table three times a day without speaking."

Tardy recollection of the fact that there had also been a time when the
wires of communication were down between herself and Dorothy, caused a
tide of red to mount upward to Jane's forehead.

The eyes of the two girls meeting, both smiled. Each read the other's
thoughts. Such a catastrophe would not occur again.

"I wonder how many new girls there will be at the Hall," Dorothy glanced
curiously about the partially filled dining-room. "Let me see. We had
four graduates from Madison. Edith isn't coming back. That makes five
vacancies to be filled. Do you know of any others?"

The approach of a maid with a heavily laden breakfast tray, left the
question unanswered for the moment.

"You forget, _la petite_," reminded Adrienne as she liberally sugared
her sliced peaches. "She will no longer live at the top of the house.
She has already made the arrangements to room with Mary Ashton. So there
are but four vacancies. I would greatly adore to be with my Norma, but
Ethel is the good little roommate. I am satisfied."

Adrienne dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand.

"Norma can have Edith's place at our table," suggested Dorothy. "That
will be nice. I'll speak to Mrs. Weatherbee about it right after
breakfast."

"Perhaps we should not wait until then."

Adrienne half rose from her chair. Noting that the matron's place at
another table was vacant she sat down again.

"Here she comes now!"

Jane followed her announcement with a muffled "Oh!" Mrs. Weatherbee was
advancing toward their table and not alone. Behind her walked the
aggressive Miss Noble.

"Miss Noble, this is Miss Martin." The matron placidly proceeded with
the introductions and rustled off, unconscious that she had precipitated
a difficult situation. Her mind occupied with other matters, she had
failed to note the stiff little bows exchanged by three of the
quartette.

It had not been lost upon Dorothy, however. Greeting the newcomer in her
usual gracious fashion, she wondered what ailed Jane and Adrienne.

"Have you examinations to try, Miss Noble?" she asked pleasantly, by way
of shattering the frigid silence that had settled down on three of the
group.

"No, indeed." The girl tossed her black head. "_I_ am from Burleigh."

"Oh! A prep school, I suppose?" Dorothy inquired politely. The name was
unfamiliar to her.

"One of the most exclusive in the Middle West," was the prompt answer,
given with a touch of arrogance. "I must say, Wellington doesn't compare
very favorably with it in _my_ opinion."

A faint sparkle of resentment lit the wide gray eyes Dorothy turned
squarely on the freshman.

"That's rather hard on Wellington," she said evenly. "I hope you will
change your mind after you've been with us a while."

"I hardly expect that I shall, judging from what I've already seen of
it. That is, if Madison Hall furnishes a sample of the rest of the
college."

Turning petulantly to the maid who had come up to attend to her wants
she ordered sharply:

"Bring me my breakfast at once. I am in a hurry."

A dead silence ensued as the maid walked away. Signally vexed at the
stranger's disparaging remarks, Dorothy had no inclination to court a
fresh volley.

Jane and Adrienne were equally attacked by dumbness. They were devoting
themselves to breakfast as if in a hurry to be through with it.

"I didn't intend to speak to you ever again," the disgruntled freshman
suddenly addressed herself to Jane. "I suppose you think it's queer in
me to sit down at the same table with you after what I told you
yesterday. I was going to refuse, then I decided I had a perfect right
to sit here if I chose. If you don't like it you can sit somewhere
else."

"Thank you. I am quite satisfied with this table." Jane's reply quivered
with sarcasm. "I sat here at meals last year. I have no intention of
making a change."

"It is, of a truth, most sad, that we cannot oblige you," Adrienne cut
into the conversation, her elfish black eyes snapping. "It is not
necessary, however, that we should say more about it. We are here. We
shall continue to be here. It is sufficient."

She made a sweeping gesture as if to brush the offensive Miss Noble off
the face of the earth.

The latter simply stared at the angry little girl for a moment, too much
amazed to make ready reply. Adrienne's calm ultimatum rather staggered
her.

Too courteous to show open amusement of the situation, Dorothy resorted
to flight. With a hasty "Excuse me" she rose and left the table. Jane
and Adrienne instantly followed suit, leaving the quarrelsome freshman
alone in her glory.

Straight toward the living-room Dorothy headed, her friends at her
heels. Dropping down on the davenport she broke into subdued laughter.

"You naughty Imp," she gasped. "I know I oughtn't laugh, but you were so
funny. Wasn't she, Jane?"

"Yes." Jane was now smiling in sympathy with Dorothy's mirth. A moment
earlier she had been scowling fiercely.

"What's the answer, Jane?"

Dorothy's laughter had merged into sudden seriousness.

"Marian Seaton's cousin," returned Jane briefly. "I didn't intend to
mention it," she continued, "but under the circumstances I think you
ought to know the truth."

Briefly Jane acquainted Dorothy with the situation.

"The whole affair is contemptible," Dorothy's intonation indicated
strong disapproval of the cowardly attempt to deprive Jane of her room.

"It looks as though Marian were guilty," she continued speculatively.
"She's the only one at Wellington, I believe, who would do you a bad
turn."

"You forget Maizie Gilbert," shrugged Jane.

"Oh, Maizie, left to herself, would never be dangerous. She's too lazy
to be vengeful. She only follows Marian's lead."

"This Marian well knew that with Mrs. Weatherbee Jane could not agree,"
asserted Adrienne. "She had the opinion that when Jane arrived here Mrs.
Weatherbee would listen to nothing she might say. So she had the
mistaken opinion."

"Mrs. Weatherbee always means to be just," defended Dorothy. "She has
rather prim ideas about things, but she's a stickler for principle. I am
glad she's over her prejudice against you, Jane."

"So am I," nodded Jane. "About this whole affair, Dorothy, I don't
intend to worry any more. I'm going to be too busy trying to be a good
sophomore pioneer to trouble myself with either Marian Seaton or her
cousin. Nothing that she did last year to try to injure me succeeded.
As long as I plod straight ahead and keep right with myself I've nothing
to fear from her."




CHAPTER VIII

A HAPPY THOUGHT


During the week that followed Jane became too fully occupied with
settling down in college to trouble herself further about Marian Seaton.
Neither the latter nor Maizie Gilbert had as yet returned to Wellington,
a fact which caused Jane no regret.

She did not doubt that as soon as Marian put in an appearance she would
hear a garbled tale of woe from her belligerent cousin. Whether Marian
would take up the cudgels in her cousin's defense was another matter.

Firm in her belief that Marian had written the disquieting letter, Jane
was fairly sure that the former's guilty conscience would warn her
against making a protest to Mrs. Weatherbee that her cousin had been
shabbily treated.

As it happened she was quite correct in her surmise. When, late one
afternoon at the end of the week, Marian and Maizie Gilbert arrived at
Madison Hall they were treated to a sight that disturbed them
considerably.

To a casual observer there was nothing strange in the sight of two
white-gowned girls seated in the big porch swing, apparently well
pleased with each other's society. To Marian Seaton, however, it
represented the defeat of a carefully laid scheme. Sight of Jane Allen,
calmly ensconced in the swing and actually laughing at something
Adrienne Dupree was relating with many gestures, filled Marian Seaton
with sullen rage, not unmixed with craven fear.

"_What_ do you think of that?" she muttered to Maizie as the driver of
the taxicab brought the machine to a slow stop on the drive. "I never
expected to see _her_ here."

"Maybe Mrs. Weatherbee didn't receive it," returned Maizie in equally
guarded tones.

"Something's gone wrong," was the cross surmise. "Watch yourself, Maiz,
when you talk, to Mrs. Weatherbee."

"Oh, she couldn't possibly know," assured Maizie. "This Allen snip has
just managed to have her own way. You know what a hurricane she is when
she gets started."

"Just the same you'd better be on your guard," warned Marian.

"Madison Hall, miss."

The driver was impatiently addressing Marian. Deep in considering the
unwelcome state of affairs revealed by Jane's presence on the veranda,
neither girl had made any move to alight.

"Oh, keep quiet!" exclaimed Marian rudely. "We'll get out when we are
ready."

"Charge you more if you keep me waiting," retorted the man. "Time's
money to me."

This threat resulted in the hasty exit of both girls from the machine.
Provided with plenty of spending money, Marian thriftily endeavored
always to obtain the greatest possible return for the least expenditure.

As the luggage-laden pair ascended the steps, some hidden force drew
Marian's unwilling gaze to the porch swing. A quick, guilty flush dyed
her cheeks as her pale blue eyes met the steady, inscrutable stare of
Jane's gray ones.

Immediately she looked away. She could not fathom the meaning of that
calm, penetrating glance.

In consequence Marian could not know that Jane had been seeking
confirmation of a certain private belief, which the former's guilty
confusion had supplied.

"Do you think she's found out anything?" Marian asked nervously of
Maizie, the instant they had entered the house.

"Mercy, no. If she had she'd have glowered at you," reassured Maizie.
"She just looked at you as though you were a stranger. You needn't be
afraid of _her_. She's too stupid to put two and two together."

"She must know about the letter, though. What I can't see is how she
managed to stick here in spite of it. Every room here was spoken for
last June. Mrs. Weatherbee told me so. I'll bet Elsie's had to go to
another campus house. It's a shame! That letter was meant to do two
things. Get Jane Allen out of the Hall and Elsie in. Don't stop to talk
with old Weatherbee, Maizie," was Marian's injunction. "We'll just say
'How do you do. We're back,' and hustle upstairs. Be sure to notice if
she seems as cordial as ever. If she is, it will be a good sign that
we're safe."

Meanwhile, out on the veranda, Adrienne was remarking under her breath
to Jane:

"Did you observe the face of Marian Seaton? Ah, but she is the guilty
one!"

"I noticed," replied Jane dryly. "I was determined to make her look at
me, and she did. It upset her to see me here. She wasn't expecting it."

"It is the annoyance that she has returned," sighed Adrienne. "All has
been so delightful without her."

"I'm going to forget that she's here," avowed Jane sturdily. "Come on,
Imp. Let's go over to the stable and see Firefly. I promised him an
apple and three lumps of sugar yesterday. I must keep my word to him."

Rising, Jane held out an inviting hand to Adrienne. The little girl
promptly linked her fingers within Jane's and the two started down the
steps, making a pretty picture as they strolled bare-headed across the
campus to the western gate.

"Hello, children! Whither away?"

Almost to the wide gateway they encountered Dorothy Martin coming from
an opposite direction.

"We're going to call on Firefly. Want to come along?" invited Jane.

"Of course I do. Firefly is a very dear friend of mine."

"I must stop at that little fruit stand below the campus and buy
Firefly's apple," Jane said as the trio emerged from the campus onto the
public highway. "I have the sugar in my blouse pocket."

She patted a tiny bulging pocket of her white silk blouse.

"Marian Seaton and Maizie Gilbert have returned," Adrienne informed
Dorothy, with a droll air of resignation. "But a few moments past and we
saw them arrive. We made no effort to embrace them."

"Miss Howard isn't pleased over their staying away so long," confided
Dorothy. "She told me yesterday that every student had reported except
those two. She asked me if I knew why they were so late. She hadn't
received a word of excuse from either of them. Too bad, isn't it, that
they should so deliberately set their faces against right?"

"They walk with the eyes open, yet are blind," mused Adrienne. "I have
known many such persons. Seldom is there the remedy. I cannot imagine
the reform of Marian Seaton. It would be the miracle."

"You may laugh if you like, but I've wondered whether there mightn't be
some way to find the good in her. Dad says there's some good in even
the worst person, if one can only find it."

Silent from the moment Adrienne had mentioned Marian's name, Jane broke
into the conversation.

"After I read that miserable letter, I felt as though I hated Marian
Seaton harder than ever," she went on. "When I saw her to-day I despised
her for being what she was. All of a sudden it came to me that I was
sorry for her instead. It's a kind of queer mix-up of feelings."

Jane gave a short laugh.

"You have the right spirit, Jane. I'm proud of you for it. You make me
feel ashamed. While I've been merely saying that it's too bad about
Marian, you've gone to the root of the matter," assured Dorothy
earnestly.

"Yet what could one do thus to bring about the reform?"

Adrienne's shrug was eloquent of the dubiety of such an enterprise.

"Begin as Jane has, by being sorry for her," replied Dorothy
thoughtfully.

"I am French," returned Adrienne simply. "The Latin never forgets nor
forgives."

Having now reached the fruit stand where Jane had stopped to purchase a
large red apple for her horse, the subject of Marian Seaton was dropped.

Arrived at the stable the three girls spent a merry session with
Firefly, who demanded much petting from them.

"He's the dearest little horse I ever saw, Jane!" glowed Dorothy when
they finally left him finishing the apple which Jane had saved as a
good-bye solace. "If ever I owned a horse like Firefly I'd be the
happiest girl in the whole world."

"There aren't many like him."

Jane turned for a last look over her shoulder at her beautiful pet.
Pursing her lips she whistled to him. Instantly he neighed an answer.

"Is he not cunning?" cried Adrienne.

Dorothy admiringly agreed that he was.

Jane smiled in an absent manner. An idea had taken shape in her mind,
the pleasure of which brought a warm flush to her cheeks.

In consequence she suddenly quickened her pace.

"What's the matter, Jane? Training for a walking match?" asked Dorothy
humorously.

"I beg your pardon," apologized Jane, slowing down. "I just happened to
think of a letter I wanted to write and send by the first mail."

"Run on ahead, then," proposed Dorothy. "We'll excuse you this once."

"Oh, it's not so urgent as all that. I just let my thoughts run away
with me for a minute."

Nevertheless there was a preoccupied light in Jane's eyes as the three
returned across the campus to the Hall.

The instant she gained her room she went hastily to work on a letter, a
pleased smile curving her lips as she wrote. When it was finished she
prepared it for mailing and ran lightly down the stairs and across the
campus to the nearest mail box. She gave a happy little sigh as it
disappeared through the receiving slot. How glad she was that the idea
had come to her. She wondered only why she had never thought of it
before.




CHAPTER IX

SEEKERS OF DISCORD


Fifteen minutes after the arrival of Marian and Maizie a disgruntled
trio of girls sat closeted in the room belonging to Marian and Maizie.

"It's all your fault," stormed Elsie Noble, her sharp black eyes full of
rancor. "If you'd come here as you promised instead of being a week late
you could have used the wonderful influence you _say_ you have with Mrs.
Weatherbee to let me keep that room. It's forty times nicer than the one
I have."

"I couldn't get here any sooner. Howard Armstead gave a dinner dance
specially in honor of _me_ and we had to stay for it."

Marian crested her blonde head as she flung forth this triumphant
excuse.

"Of course you did. You're so boy-struck you can't see straight. I
might have known it was because of one of your silly old beaux. I'm glad
I have more sense."

"You don't show any signs of it," sneered Marian.

"Stop quarreling, both of you," drawled Maizie. "Go go ahead, Elsie, and
tell us what happened about the room. That's the thing we want to know.
For goodness' sake keep your voice down though. You don't talk. You
shout."

"I'd rather shout than drawl my words as if I were too lazy to say
them," retaliated Elsie wrathfully.

"All right, shout then and let everybody in the Hall know your
business," was Maizie's tranquil response.

"If you came here to fuss, Elsie, then we can get along very well
without you. If you expect to go around with us, you'll have to behave
like a human being."

Marian's cool insolence had an instantly subduing effect on her
belligerent relative. She knew that Marian was quite capable of dropping
her, then and there.

"I don't know what happened about the room," she said sulkily, but in a
decidedly lower key. "I came here at nine o'clock in the morning. Mrs.
Weatherbee sent the maid with me to the room. That Stearns girl said I
must have made a mistake. I knew that she wasn't exactly pleased. She
said hardly a word to me. She went out and stayed out until just before
luncheon. Then she came in for about ten minutes and went downstairs. I
didn't see her again."

"She was probably running around the campus telling her friends about
it," lazily surmised Maizie. "I'll bet she was all at sea. Wonder if she
went to Weatherbee with a string of complaints."

"What happened after that?" queried Marian impatiently.

"What happened?" Elsie pitched the question in a shrill angry key.
"Enough, I should say. I unpacked part of my things, then finished
reading a dandy mystery story I'd begun on the train. About four o'clock
Mrs. Weatherbee sailed in here and made me give up the room."

"What did she say?" was the concerted question.

"She said there'd been a misunderstanding about Miss Allen's coming back
to the Hall. That Miss Allen was not to blame and so must have her own
room. I said I wouldn't give it up and she said it was not for me, but
her, to decide that. She said I could have the other room if I wanted
it. If I didn't then she had nothing else to offer me. I said I'd go to
the registrar about it. She just looked superior and said, 'As you
please.' I knew I was beaten. If I went to the registrar, then Mrs.
Weatherbee would have a chance to show her that letter. If I gave in,
very likely she'd let the whole thing drop. As long as she'd offered me
another room here, I thought it was best to take it."

"I didn't think it would turn out like that," frowned Marian.
"Weatherbee couldn't bear Jane Allen last year. I was sure she'd be only
too glad to get rid of her. That letter was meant to make her furious,
enough so that she wouldn't let this Allen girl into the Hall again.
Something remarkable must have happened."

"Weatherbee didn't suspect you, anyway," chimed in Maizie. "She was all
smiles when we went into her office."

"Yes, she was sweet as cream. She could never trace it to me anyway. I
took good care of that."

"Who wrote it for you?" asked Elsie curiously.

"That's my affair," rudely returned Marian. "If I told you all my
business you'd know as much as I do. I'm sorry the scheme didn't work,
but, at least, you got into the Hall. I'm certainly glad that girl
failed in her exams. As for Jane Allen--well, I'm not through with her
yet. Who is your roommate?"

"A Miss Reynolds. She's a soph----"

"_Alicia Reynolds!_" chorused two interrupting voices.

"Well of all things!" Marian's pale eyes widened with surprise. "What do
you think of that, Maiz?"

"You're in luck, Marian," Maizie averred with a slow smile. "You stand a
better chance of getting in with Alicia again. Elsie can help you if she
doesn't go to work and fuss with Alicia the first thing."

"What are you talking about? Who is this Alicia Reynolds?" inquired
Elsie curiously.

"Oh, we chummed with her last year. She didn't like this Jane Allen any
better than we did. Then last spring she went riding and fell off her
horse and our dear Miss Allen picked her up and brought her home on her
own horse. Alicia wasn't hurt. She thought she was and that the Allen
girl was a heroine," glibly related Marian. "She listened to a lot of
lies Jane Allen told her about us and now she won't speak to either of
us. It's too bad, because we are really her friends and this Allen
person isn't. Some day we hope to prove it to her."

"This Jane Allen must be a terrible mischief-maker," was Elsie's
opinion. "I told her what I thought of her the afternoon she came."

"You did?" exclaimed Marian.

"Yes, sirree. I went straight to her room and spoke my mind. I was so
furious with her. The very next morning Mrs. Weatherbee put me at the
same table with her. It was my first meal at the Hall. I went to
Rutherford Inn for luncheon and dinner. I was hungry and thought maybe
the meals wouldn't suit me. They're all right, though. When I saw her at
the table I was going to balk about sitting there, then I changed my
mind. I had as much right to be there as she. I told her that, too."

"Some little scrapper," murmured Maizie.

There was cunning significance, however, in the slow glance she cast at
Marian.

"What did she say to you?"

Marian had returned Maizie's glance with one of equal meaning.

"Not much of anything. I didn't give her a chance," boasted Elsie. "That
little French girl snapped me up in a hurry. She's awfully pretty,
isn't she?"

"She's a little cat," retorted Marian. "Look out for her. She's too
clever for you. Her mother's Eloise Dupree, the dancer. She dances too.
They're friends of President Blakesly's. She's awfully popular here and
afraid of nobody. She's devoted to Jane Allen, though, so that settles
her with me."

"Is Dorothy Martin at your table?" asked Maizie.

"Yes. I don't like her."

"She's a prig," shrugged Maizie.

"Edith Hammond used to sit there. Do you know her?" queried Marian of
Elsie.

"She's not here any more. She's going to be married. I heard this
Dorothy talking about her yesterday to Miss Dupree."

"Glad's she's gone. She was another turncoat. Hated Jane Allen and then
started to be nice to her all of a sudden."

"This Jane Allen seems to have a lot of friends for all you girls say
about her," Elsie asserted almost defiantly. "I detest her, but I notice
she's never alone. The first night she came there was a crowd of girls
in her room. I heard them laughing and singing."

"They didn't come to _see her_," informed Marian scornfully. "It's
Judith Stearns that draws them. She's very popular at Wellington. Can't
see why, I'm sure. Anyway Jane Allen has pulled the wool over her eyes
until she thinks she has a wonderful roommate."

"Jane Allen hasn't so many friends," broke in Maizie. "Dorothy Martin,
Judith, Adrienne Dupree, Ethel Lacey, she's Adrienne's roommate, and
Norma Bennett. That's all. Lots of girls in the sophomore class don't
like her."

"Yes, and who's Norma Bennett," sneered Marian. "She used to be a
kitchen maid; now she's a third-rate actress. She's a pet of Adrienne's
and Jane Allen's. I think we ought to make a fuss about having her here
at the Hall. If we could get most of the girls to sign a petition asking
Mrs. Weatherbee to take it up it would be a good thing."

"But would she do it?" was Maizie's skeptical query.

"She might if we worked it cleverly," answered Marian. "Adrienne and her
crowd would probably go to President Blakesly. We'd have to work it in
such a way that Norma wouldn't let her. This Bennett girl is one of the
sensitive sort. False pride, you know. Beggars are usually like that.
Of course, I don't say positively that we can do it. We'll have to wait
and see. Some good chance may come."

"It would be a splendid way to get even with Jane Allen and Adrienne
Dupree, too," approved Maizie. "They would have spasms if their darling
Norma had to leave Madison Hall and they couldn't help themselves."

"I think it would be rather hard on this Norma," declared Elsie bluntly.

She had pricked up her ears at the word "actress." Unbeknown to anyone
save herself she was desperately stage struck. The idea of having a real
actress at the Hall was decidedly alluring.

"You don't know what you're talking about," angrily rebuked Marian.
"It's hard on the girls of really good families to have to countenance
such a person. I've lived at Madison Hall a year longer than you have.
Just remember that."

"What we ought to do is to get as many girls as we can on our side,"
suggested crafty Maizie. "There are forty-eight girls at the Hall, most
of them sophs. Last year we let them alone, because they weren't of our
class. This year we'll have to make a fuss over them. Lunch them and
take them to ride in our cars and all that. It will be a bore, but it
will pay in the end. Once we get a stand-in with them, we can run things
here to suit ourselves."

"That's a good idea," lauded Marian. "We'll begin this very day."

So it was that while Jane Allen and her little coterie of loyal friends
entered upon their college year with high aspirations to do well, under
the same roof with them, three girls sat and plotted to overthrow
Wellington's most sacred tradition: "And this is my command unto you
that ye love one another."




CHAPTER X

A VAGUE REGRET


"WELL, Jane, it's our turn to do the inviting this year," announced
Judith Stearns, as she pranced jubilantly into the room where Jane sat
hard at work on her Horace for next day's recitation.

"When is it to be?"

Jane looked up eagerly from her book.

"A week from to-night. The notice just appeared on the bulletin board.
You know my fond affection for the bulletin board."

Judith boyishly tossed up her soft blue walking hat and caught it on one
finger, loudly expressing her opinion of her own dexterity.

"Sit down, oh, vainglorious hat-thrower, and tell me about it,"
commanded Jane, laughing.

"That's all I know. It's to be next Wednesday night. I suppose our
august soph committee has met and decided the great question. It's the
usual getting-acquainted-with-our-freshman-sisters affair. After that
comes class meeting, and after that----"

Judith plumped down on her couch bed and beamed knowingly at Jane.

"Guess what comes after that," she finished.

"Basket-ball."

Jane gave a long sigh of pure satisfaction. There was a pleasant light
in her eyes as she made the guess. She was anxiously looking forward to
making the sophomore team.

"Yes, _basket-ball_."

Judith echoed the sigh. She also hoped to make the team.

"We'll have to get busy and invite our freshmen to the dance," she said
wagging her brown head. "The freshman class is large this year; about a
third larger than last year's class. That means some of the juniors and
seniors will have to help out. I'm glad of it. It will give Norma a
chance to go too."

"There are only four freshmen in this house," stated Jane. "One of them
is out of the question for us."

"I get you," returned Judith slangily. "Undoubtedly you refer to the
ignoble Miss Noble. Noble by name but not by nature," she added with a
chuckle.

Jane smiled, then frowned.

"Honestly, Judy, I'd give almost anything if she weren't at our table. I
don't mind her not speaking to any of us. But she always listens to
every word we say and acts as if she was storing it up for future
reference. Even Dorothy feels the strain."

"It's too bad," sympathized Judith. "There's only one consolation. When
it gets too much on your nerves you can always fall back on Rutherford
Inn."

"I'm going to fall back on it to-night," decided Jane suddenly. "Let's
have a dinner party."

"Can't go. I am the proud possessor of one dollar and two cents," Judith
ruefully admitted.

"This is to be _my_ party," emphasized Jane. "I haven't touched my last
check yet. I've been too busy studying to partify. Now don't be a
quitter, Judy. I want to do this."

Jane had observed signs of objection on Judith's good-humored face.

"All right," yielded Judith. "Go ahead. I'll give a blow-out when my
check comes. It'll be here next week."

"We'll invite Norma, Dorothy, Adrienne, Ethel, Mary, Christine Ellis,
Barbara Temple, and oh, yes--Alicia Reynolds. We mustn't forget Alicia."

"Yes, she needs a little recreation," grinned Judith. "Chained to the
ignoble Noble! What a fate for a good little soph! Some roommate!"

"You'd better be careful about the pet name you're so fond of giving
that girl," warned Jane, laughing a little in spite of her admonition.
"You know your failing. You'll say it some time to someone without
thinking. Then little Judy will be sorry."

"Oh, I only say it to you and Imp," averred Judith cheerfully. "You're
both to be trusted."

"If we're going to have the party to-night we'll have to hurry up about
it. How are we going to get word to Alicia? I hate to go to her room on
account of Miss Noble. And what about Christine and Barbara?"

Jane laid down her book and rose from her chair.

"I'll go over to Argyle Hall and invite them. Tell Ethel to go in and
invite Alicia," suggested Judith. "She's almost as obliging as I am. She
rooms next to Alicia and our noble friend. It will be only a step for
her. She won't mind doing it."

"I guess I'd better. Tell Christine and Barbara to be at the Inn by
six-thirty."

Jane turned and left the room. Walking down the long hall she passed
Alicia's door. It was open a trifle. She was tempted to peep in and see
if Alicia might perhaps be within and alone. Second thought prompted her
to go on without investigating.

Rapping smartly on Ethel's door, her knock was followed by the sound of
approaching footfalls from within. Nor was she aware that through the
slight opening in Alicia's door a pair of sharp black eyes peered out at
her.

"Why, hello, Jane!" greeted Ethel. "Come in."

"Can't stop but a minute."

Jane stepped into the room, careful to close the door behind her.

"I'm giving a dinner party at Rutherford Inn to-night," she briskly
began. "All of our crowd are going, I hope. I'm just starting out to
invite them. Where's Imp?"

"Downstairs on the trail of her laundry," laughed Ethel. "It went out
white linen skirts and silk blouses. It came back sheets and pillow
cases. You should have seen her face when she opened the package. She
threw up her hands and said: 'What stupidity! Must I then appear in my
classes draped like the ghost?'"

Jane joined in Ethel's merry laughter. She had a vision of petite
Adrienne trailing into classes thus spectrally attired.

"I want you to do something for me, Ethel." Jane had grown suddenly
serious. "Will you go to Alicia and invite her to the party? I'd rather
not go myself. You understand why. But it's really necessary to invite
her. She might feel hurt if she were left out. I wouldn't have that
happen for worlds. Not after what she did for me about basket-ball. She
was dining out the night we had the spread so I couldn't invite her to
that. I told her so afterward for fear she might have been offended."

"Surely I'll tell her," nodded Ethel. "I don't think she's in now,
though. I met her going down the walk as I came up it. She said she had
to go to the library for a book she needed. I imagine she'll be back
soon."

"Be sure to tell her," Jane impressed upon Ethel. "Thank you ever so
much. Tell Adrienne, too. Don't dress up. It's a strictly informal
party. Meet me in the living-room at six."

With this Jane departed to go on to Dorothy's room. Passing the door of
Alicia's room she noted that it was now closed. As Alicia was out she
guessed that Elsie Noble was in. She was now not sorry that she had
refrained from approaching it. Undoubtedly she would have met with an
unpleasant reception.

Finding her other friends at home, Jane quickly made the rounds and
hurried back to her own room.

Judith appeared soon afterward with the information that Christine and
Barbara had joyfully accepted and would be on hand at the Inn.

When at six o'clock the party from the Hall gathered in the living-room,
first glance about showed her that Alicia was missing.

Going over to where Ethel stood, Jane anxiously asked: "Did you see
Alicia, Ethel?"

"Yes. She isn't coming. She said to tell you it was impossible for her
to accept. I went to her room a few minutes after you left. I knocked
until I was tired but no one answered. So I went back to my room. After
a while I tried again and while I was standing at her door she came down
the hall with Miss Noble. I asked her to come into my room a minute and
told her."

"Funny she didn't give you any reason why she couldn't come," pondered
Jane with drawn brows.

"She looked as though she'd been crying," returned Ethel. "I thought
maybe she'd had bad news or something so I didn't urge her. She wasn't a
bit snippy. She just looked white and a little bit sad."

"I wonder if I ought to run up and see her."

Jane stared at Ethel, her eyes fall of active concern.

"Better wait until to-morrow," advised Ethel. "Whatever's the matter
with her, she may feel like being alone. You know how it is sometimes
with one."

"Yes, I know."

Jane knew only too well how it felt to be sought out by even her friends
when occasional black moods descended upon her.

"We may as well start," she said slowly. "As hostess I mustn't neglect
my guests. I'll surely make it a point to see Alicia in the morning."

Nevertheless as the bevy of light-hearted diners left Madison Hall and
strolled bare-headed in the sunset toward Rutherford Inn, a vague
uneasiness took hold of Jane. She regretted that she had not gone
upstairs to see Alicia. Nor did it leave her until after she had
reached the Inn, where for the time being the lively chatter of her
companions served to drive it from her mind.




CHAPTER XI

REJECTED CAVALIERS


One glaring result of Jane's dinner party was the ignoring of the
ten-thirty rule that night.

It was eight o'clock when the congenial diners finished an elaborate
dessert and strolled gaily out of the Inn. The beauty of the night
induced the will to loiter. Some one proposed a walk into Chesterford
and a visit to a moving-picture theatre.

When they emerged from it it was half-past nine, thus necessitating a
quick hike to the campus. Jane and Judith made port in their room at
exactly twenty-five minutes past ten.

Visions of unprepared lessons looming up large, they decided that for
once "lights out" should not be the order of things.

As a consequence of retiring at eleven-thirty, both overslept the next
morning and dashed wildly off to chapel without breakfast.

Occupied from then on with classes, it was not until she had finished
her last recitation of the morning and was on her way to Madison Hall
that Jane remembered her resolve to see Alicia.

Determined to lose no more time in putting it into execution, she
quickened her pace. Coming to the stone walk leading up to the steps of
the Hall, Jane uttered a little cluck of satisfaction. She had spied
Alicia seated in a rocker on the veranda, engaged in reading a letter.

"Oh, Alicia!" she called as she reached the foot of the steps. "You're
the very person I most want to see!"

Sound of Jane's voice caused Alicia to glance up in startled fashion.
She had been faintly smiling over her letter when first Jane glimpsed
her. Now her pale face underwent a swift, ominous change. She hastily
rose.

"I didn't wish to see _you_," she said stiffly, and marched into the
house.

Jane's primary impulse was to follow her and demand an explanation. The
rebuff, however, had stirred again into life the old, rebellious pride
which had formerly caused her so much unhappiness.

For a moment she stood still, hands clenched, cheeks flaming with
mortification. Then with a bitter smile she walked slowly up the steps
and into the house. After that affront Alicia would wait a long time
before she, Jane Allen, would seek an explanation.

"Well, it has come," she said sullenly, as she entered her room where
Judith sat at the dressing table, recoiling her long brown hair.

"What's come? By 'it' do you mean yourself?"

Judith turned in her chair with a boyish grin.

"No," Jane answered shortly. "Alicia Reynolds has gone back to her old
chums."

"You don't mean it!"

Judith's hands dropped from her hair. In her surprise she let go of half
a dozen hair pins she had been holding in one hand.

"Now see what you made me do," she laughingly accused. "Get down and
help me pick them up."

"Oh, bother your old hairpins!" exclaimed Jane savagely. "I'm awfully
upset about this, Judy. I felt last night as if I should have gone to
Alicia and asked her what was the matter. This is some of Marian
Seaton's work."

"Of course it is," calmly concurred Judith. "I haven't the least idea
of what it's all about, but I agree with you just the same. I'll agree
even harder when I do find out."

In a few jerky sentences Jane enlightened Judith.

"So that's the way the land lies," commented Judith. "Well, I'm not
surprised. Take my word for it the ignoble Noble has had a hand in this.
Just the same I don't believe Alicia has gone back to Marion Seaton.
She's merely hurt over some yarn that's been told her. You'd better see
her, Jane, and have it out with her."

"I won't do it." Jane shook an obstinate head. "Alicia ought to know
better than listen to those girls. She knows how badly Marian Seaton
behaved last year about basket-ball. She knows that Marian is untruthful
and dishonorable. If she chooses to believe in a person of that stamp
then she will have to abide by her choice."

It was the stubborn, embittered Jane Allen of earlier days at Wellington
who now spoke.

"Only the other day I said to Dorothy that I didn't hate Marian Seaton
any longer; that I felt only sorry for her. I said, too, that there must
be some good in her if one could only find it. What a simpleton I was!"

The sarcastic smile that hovered about Jane's red lips, fully indicated
her contempt of her own mistaken sentiments.

"Adrienne was right," she said after a brief pause. "She said she could
never forget nor forgive an injury. I thought I could, but I can't. I
mean I don't want to."

Her brows meeting in the old disfiguring scowl, Jane began pacing the
room in what Judith had termed her "caged lion" fashion.

"Oh, forget it," counseled Judith, casting a worried glance at Jane's
gloomy, storm-ridden face. "Don't let Marian Seaton's hatefulness upset
you, Jane. You behaved like a brick about your room and that letter.
This isn't half as bad as that mix-up was. You said your own self that
you were going to ignore anything she tried to do against you. Now go
ahead and keep your word. You've lots of good friends. You should
worry."

"I haven't so many," Jane sharply contradicted. "I can count them on my
fingers. I don't make friends as easily as you do, Judy."

"Just the same a lot of fuss was made over you last spring when you won
the big game for our team," Judith sturdily reminded.

"That's not friendship. That was only admiration of the moment. The same
girls who cheered me then would probably be just as ready to turn
against me if they happened to feel like it," pointed out Jane
skeptically. "No wonder I used to hate girls. Very few of them know what
loyalty and friendship mean."

"You're hopeless." Judith made a gesture of resignation.

With a chuckle she added: "Why not challenge Marian Seaton to a duel and
demolish her? Umbrellas would be splendid weapons. I have one with a
lovely crooked handle. You could practice hooking it around my neck and
when the fateful hour came you could bring the double-dyed villain to
her knees with one swoop. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"You're a ridiculous girl, Judy Stearns."

Jane was forced to laugh a little at Judith's nonsense.

"_You're_ a goose yourself to get all worked up over nothing," grinned
Judith. "I can't say I blame you for throwing up the stupendous labor of
hunting out Marian's good qualities. In my opinion 'There ain't no such
animal.' But you're a very large-sized goose if you allow her to spoil
your sophomore year for you."

"I don't intend she shall spoil it," Jane grimly assured. "I've stood a
good deal from her without ever even once trying to strike back. I'm
not sure that I've done right in allowing her to torment me as she has
without ever asserting myself. There's a limit to forbearance. I may
feel some day that I've reached it."

Judith smiled but said nothing. She had too high an opinion of Jane to
believe that her proud-spirited roommate would ever descend to the level
of her enemies. Given an opportunity for revenge, she believed that Jane
would scorn to seize it.

"Have you invited your freshman yet?" she asked with sudden irrelevancy.

"No, I haven't had time to see any one of them yet," Jane answered.

"I asked Miss Lorimer, a cute little girl from Creston Hall, this
morning after chapel, but she said she'd already been invited," informed
Judith. "I must find out if the three eligible freshmen here have
escorts yet. I suppose they have, with so many sophs in the house. The
ignoble Noble's not an eligible."

The luncheon bell now interrupted the talk. It seemed to Jane as she
took her place at table that spiteful triumph lurked in the sharp glance
Elsie Noble flashed at her.

The conversation carried on by herself, Adrienne and Dorothy, centered
almost entirely on the coming dance. From Adrienne, Jane learned that
the Hall's three freshmen had already received invitations.

When the little French girl announced this, Jane again fancied that she
read satisfaction in the sharp features of the quarrelsome freshman.

Though the latter had not addressed a word to her tablemates since her
advent among them, she never missed a word they said. All three were
well aware of this and it annoyed them not a little.

When just before dinner that evening Judith and Jane compared notes, it
was to discover the same thing. Neither had been successful in securing
a freshman to escort to the dance.

"I've asked five girls and every one of them turned me down," Judith
ruefully acknowledged. "I thought I'd start early, but it seems others
started earlier."

"I've asked two different girls, but both have escorts," frowned Jane.
"I sha'n't ask any more. I thought Miss Harper, the second girl I asked,
refused me rather coolly. I want to do my duty as a soph, but I won't
stand being snubbed."

"Let's go and see what luck Ethel and Adrienne have had," proposed
Judith.

Indifferently assenting, Jane accompanied Judith to her friends' room.

"Ah, do not ask me!" was Adrienne's disgusted outburst, "These freshmen
are, of a truth, too popular. Four this day I have invited, but to no
purpose."

"I'm going to take Miss Simmons, a Barclay Hall girl, to the dance,"
informed Ethel. "I asked her this morning and she accepted."

"Well, we seem out of luck," sighed Judith. "Do you know whether Mary
and Norma have invited their freshmen?"

"Mary's going to take Miss Thomas, an Argyle Hall girl. Norma hasn't
asked any one yet," was Ethel's prompt reply. "You girls just happened
to ask the wrong ones, I guess. Try again to-morrow. There are more than
enough freshies to go round this year."

After a little further talk, Jane and Judith went back to their room.

"What do you think about it?" Judith asked abruptly the instant they
were behind their own door.

"I don't know. It's probably as Ethel says, 'a happen-so.' I can't think
of any other reason, unless----"

Jane stopped and eyed Judith steadily.

"Unless some one in the freshman class has set the freshmen against us,"
quickly supplemented Judith.

"Yes, that's what I was thinking. It doesn't seem possible in so large a
class. Still one girl can sometimes do a good deal of mischief."

"You mean Miss Noble?"

Judith was too much in earnest to use the derisive name she had given
the disagreeable freshman.

"Yes," affirmed Jane. "If she helped to turn Alicia against me, she is
quite capable of going further. So far as we know, you and Adrienne and
I are the only sophs who've been turned down all around. Norma hasn't
asked any one yet. Anyway, she's a junior."

"It looks rather queer, so queer that I'm going to make it my business
to ask a few questions to-morrow. If there's really anything spiteful
back of this, believe me, little Judy will find it out."




CHAPTER XII

NORMA'S "FIND"


The end of the next day was productive of no better results so far as
Adrienne, Judith and Jane were concerned. Playing escort to their
freshman sisters seemed not for them.

That evening a quintette of girls gathered in Ethel's room to discuss
the peculiar situation. The quintette consisted of Ethel, Adrienne,
Jane, Judith and Norma Bennett.

"There's something not right about it," Judith emphatically declared.
"I've tried all day to get a clue to the mystery, but nothing doing.
Nobody seems to want the pleasure of our company to the dance. What luck
have you had, Norma?"

"Oh, I invited a little girl named Freda Marsh. She lives away off the
campus," replied Norma. "She and three other girls have rented the
second floor of a house and do their own cooking. They are all poor and
very determined to put themselves through college."

"When did you discover this find?" Judith showed signs of active
interest.

"Miss Marsh sits next to me at chapel," replied Norma. "After chapel
this morning I asked her to go to the dance. She seemed awfully pleased.
Then she told me where she lived and about herself and her chums. They
all hail from a little town in the northern part of New York State."

"Wicked one, why did you not tell me this before?" playfully demanded
Adrienne.

"I haven't had a chance, Imp, until now," smiled Norma. "This is the
first time I've seen you to-day except at a distance."

"Ah, yes, it is true!" loudly sighed Adrienne. "This noon I came late
from the laboratory after a most stupid chemistry lesson. Such hands!
They were the sight! I feared I should wash them away before they became
presentable. After the classes this afternoon I must of a necessity go
to the library. So it was dinner time when I returned, and thus passed
the time."

"You're forgiven."

Her blue eyes full of affection, Norma laid an arm over Adrienne's
shoulder. She had every reason to adore the impulsive, warm-hearted
little girl.

"Norma, do you suppose Miss Marsh's friends have received invitations to
the dance?" Jane broke in eagerly.

"I don't know, Jane. I can find out for you in the morning at chapel."

"I wish you would. If they haven't, tell Miss Marsh that we would love
to be their escorts and that we'll call on them to-morrow evening. How
about it, girls?"

Jane turned questioning eyes from Judith to Adrienne.

"It's a fine idea!" glowed Judith. "I'm sorry I didn't know about them
before. The freshman class is so large this year. I know only a few of
the girls as yet."

"I am indeed well suited." Adrienne waved an approving hand. "Shall we
not go to make the call soon after dinner to-morrow night?"

"Yes, as early as we can," acquiesced Judith. "That is, provided these
three girls haven't been asked."

"It would be nice to go and see them anyway," declared Ethel. "We ought
to get acquainted with them. Where do they live, Norma?"

"At 605 Bridge Street. It's almost a mile from here. So Miss Marsh
said."

"To go back to what you said a while ago, Judy, what makes you think
there is any special reason for the girls' refusing you and Adrienne and
Jane as escorts?" questioned Norma concernedly.

"Jane and I just think so. That's all. We think some one's to blame for
it."

"To blame. Who then is to blame?"

A swift flash of suspicion had leaped into Adrienne's big black eyes.

"Some one not far away, perhaps," replied Judith significantly. "That's
the way it looks to me."

"But could it be? She is but one among many," reminded Adrienne.

She understood quite well whom Judith meant.

"She's the only freshman who would be interested in making trouble,"
argued Judith. "She has probably been egged on by others who are _not_
freshmen."

"Still it's not fair to lay it to her when we don't know anything
definite," remarked Ethel.

"I'm only supposing," explained Judith. "I'm not saying positively that
I think she's guilty. I'm only saying that it seems probable."

"I doubt it." Ethel shook a dubious head.

"I may be wrong," Judith admitted. "Anyway, it won't matter, if these
three girls accept our invitation. It will show the plotters, if there
really are any, that they haven't bothered us a bit."

"I'm sorry, girls, but I'll have to go." Norma rose from her chair. "I
haven't looked at my books yet and I must study to-night."

"You're not the only one," cheerfully commented Judith, getting to her
feet. "Come on, Jane. We have our own troubles in the study line."

With this the talking-bee broke up, Norma promising faithfully to be
sure to deliver next morning the message intrusted to her.

Directly after dinner the following evening the five friends set out for
605 Bridge Street. Greatly to the delight of the three most interested
parties, Norma had given out the pleasant news that the trio of girls
they were to call upon were without special invitations to the coming
dance.

The beauty of the soft autumn night made walking a pleasure. Five
abreast, the callers strolled through the twilight, making the still air
ring with their fresh voices and light, happy laughter.

The house where the four freshmen lived was an unpretentious dwelling,
built of wood and painted a dull gray. A straggling bit of uneven lawn
in front by no means added to its appearance. Even in the concealing
twilight it had a neglected look. It was in glaring contrast to stately
Madison Hall with its green, close-clipped lawns and wide verandas.

"What cheerlessness!" exclaimed Adrienne under her breath.

Grouped about the door, Norma rang the bell. A tired-eyed, middle-aged
woman answered it. Yes, Miss Marsh was in, she declared listlessly.

A clear, pleasant voice from above stairs affirmed that information.
Next instant a sweet-faced, brown-eyed girl had reached the landing and
was greeting her callers with a pretty cordiality that was infinitely
pleasing.

"Do come upstairs to our house," she invited. "It's a very unpretentious
place, but home-like, we think."

Norma introducing her friends to Miss Marsh, the five girls followed
their hostess up the narrow stairway and were ushered into a good-sized
living-room. A rag rug covered a floor, stained dark at the edges. An
old-fashioned library table, a quaint walnut desk with many pigeon
holes, a horse-hair covered settee and a few nondescript, but
comfortable-looking chairs completed the furniture.

On the table, strewn with books, a reading lamp gave forth a mellow
light. The walls, papered in tan with a deep brown border, were dotted
with passe-partouted prints, both in color and black and white. The
whole effect, though homely, was that of a room which might indeed be
called a living room.

"Please help yourselves to seats," hospitably urged their winsome
hostess. "Excuse me for a moment while I call the girls. They are just
finishing the washing of the supper dishes and getting things in shape
for breakfast. We get everything ready the night before so as not to be
late in the morning," she explained. Then, with a smiling nod, she left
her guests.

"It's a comfy old room, isn't it?" was Judith's guarded observation.
"This house-keeping idea of theirs is a clever one."

"That Miss Marsh is a dear," murmured Ethel. "I've seen her once or
twice before on the campus, I think."

"I have the feeling that we shall like these girls," commented Adrienne.
"This Miss Marsh has the sweet face and the courteous ways."

The entrance of their hostess and her chums prevented further exchange
of opinion.

"These are my pals, Ida Leonard, Marie Benham and Kathie Meddart,"
smiled Freda, going on to name each of her callers as she performed the
introduction. "You see I remembered all your names and to whom they
belonged."

When a number of girls have the will to become acquainted it does not
take them long to do so. Almost immediately a buzz of animated
impersonal conversation began.

"We came here to deliver our invitations in person," Jane finally said
with a smile. "Miss Leonard, I'd love to be your cavalier for the
freshman frolic."

"Thank you. I'd love to go to it with you, I'm sure," accepted Ida
Leonard, a tall, thin girl with fair hair and a plain, but interesting
face.

Jane having set the ball rolling, Adrienne promptly invited Marie
Benham, a slim little girl with an eager, boyish face, framed in curly
brown hair.

This left Kathie Meddart, an extremely pretty girl of pure blonde type,
to Judith.

Considerable merriment arose over the extending and acceptance of the
invitations. Poverty had not robbed the four young hostesses of a
cheery, happy-go-lucky air that charmed their more affluent guests.

For an hour the congenial company talked and laughed as only girls can.
Kathie finally excusing herself, disappeared kitchenward, presently
returning with a huge, brown pitcher of lemonade and a plate piled high
with crisp little cakes, which she assured were of her own making.

Needless to say, they disappeared with amazing rapidity, the guests
loudly acclaiming their toothsome merits.

"I'm glad you like them," declared Kathie, pink with pleasant confusion.
"I took a course in cookery at a night school at home last year. I often
used to make this kind of cakes for parties. I had lots of orders and
made enough money to pay my tuition fees at Wellington for this year."

"How splendid!" approved Jane. Her approval was echoed by the others.

"I'm hoping, after I get acquainted here in college, to do a little of
that sort of thing," confided Kathie rather shyly. "I could spare an
hour or so a day to do it. Only I don't know how to go about it."

"Would you--could you--would you care to make some for me, some day?"
hesitated Jane. "They would be simply great if one were giving a
spread."

"Why, that's ever so kind in you," glowed Kathie. "When I just spoke of
it I wasn't fishing for an order. I mentioned it before I thought."

"It's a good thing you did. I'll order two dozen for my own special
benefit the minute my check comes," laughed Judith. "I sha'n't give Jane
Allen one. I'll sit in a corner of our room and gobble them all up."

"I adore those cakes!" Adrienne clasped her small hands. "Would it then
be possible that I might have some to-morrow? Perhaps two dozen? Ah, but
I am not the greedy one. I will share with my friends, even most selfish
Judy."

This provoked a laugh at Judith's expense. So it was, however, that
Kathie received her first order which she agreed to deliver the next
day.

As a matter of fact, she had been the only one to demur when Freda had
announced that the Madison Hall girls were coming there that evening.
She had advanced the argument that "those rich Madison Hall girls won't
care to ask us to the dance when they see how poor we are." Now she
wondered how she could ever have so misjudged such a delightful lot of
girls.




CHAPTER XIII

THE EXPLANATION


When at length the quintette of callers regretfully agreed that they
must be getting back to the Hall, Freda said rather nervously:

"Please don't go just yet. I--we--there is something we think we ought
to tell you."

"Very well, tell us," invited Judith gaily.

She had an idea that the something might relate to the all-important
question of gowns. If Freda were worrying over that, Judith proposed to
dismiss the subject lightly. Precisely the same thought had occurred to
Jane, who noted Freda's sudden flush and evident confusion.

"Something--well--not very pleasant happened this afternoon," Freda
continued. "A--we had a caller--a girl----Why shouldn't I be frank? This
girl was of the freshman class. We saw her at class meeting the other
day, but we have never been introduced to her. She brought a paper with
her and asked us to sign it. It was about three of you girls; Miss
Allen, Miss Dupree and Miss Stearns, and----"

"About us?" chorused a trio of astonished voices.

"Yes," nodded Freda, her color heightening. "It began, 'We, the
undersigned,' I can't recall the exact words, but it was an agreement
not to accept an invitation from any one of you to the dance or to
notice you throughout the year, because of the discourteous and hateful
way you had treated a member of the freshman class. There were----"

"How perfectly disgraceful!" burst indignantly from Judith. "What did I
tell you, girls? I knew there was something wrong. We didn't expect to
find it out in this strange way, though. Well, 'murder will out,' as the
saying goes."

"You said the paper began, 'We, the undersigned'?" questioned Jane in a
clear, hard voice. "How many names were signed to it?"

"I can't say positively." Freda looked distressed. "You see, it made me
so disgusted that I handed it back the instant I had read it. The girl
offered it to my chums, too, but they wouldn't look at it. She said
that nearly all the members of the class had signed it. I know better. I
believe not half the class had signed."

"Would you object to telling us the name of the girl who brought you the
paper to sign?" steadily pursued Jane.

"I wouldn't object; no. Why should I? A girl like that deserves no
clemency," Freda returned spiritedly. "The trouble is, I don't know her
name. She is small and dark, with sharp black eyes and a pointed chin.
She's very homely, but dresses beautifully. She----"

"Thank you. We know who she is," interrupted Judith. "Her name is Elsie
Noble, and she lives at Madison Hall."

"Ah, but she is the hateful one," sputtered Adrienne. "It was most kind
in you, Miss Marsh, and your friends also, to thus refuse to sign this
hideously untruthful paper. We have done this girl no harm. Rather, it
is she who would harm us because we have respected our own rights."

"I suspected it to be a case of spite work," asserted Freda. "It is not
usual for a class in college to adopt such harsh measures."

"We were rather surprised at her coming to us with the paper," put in
Kathie. "We've seen her with a crowd of girls who don't appear to know
that we are on the map. She said she understood that you girls were
going to invite us to the dance and felt it her duty to call on us and
object to our accepting your invitations."

"But how could she possibly know that?" cried out Ethel Lacey. "No one
except the five of us knew it until Norma told you this morning."

"I hope you don't think----" began Freda.

A hurt look had crept into her soft, brown eyes.

"How could we possibly think such a thing?" cut in Jane assuringly. "We
can readily understand that Miss Noble's call must have been a complete
surprise to you. On the contrary, we are very grateful to you and your
friends for not signing the paper."

"Yes, indeed," nodded Judith. "Frankly, we suspected that something
unpleasant was in the wind. When first we heard about the dance, we each
invited freshmen whom we knew. Every one of them turned us down. We
didn't think anything of that in the beginning. We supposed we had just
happened to invite the wrong ones. Afterward we thought differently."

"I am sorry we didn't make it our business to get acquainted earlier
with you girls. We really should have, you know," Judith apologized.
"We were so busy getting started in our classes that we hadn't had time
yet to be sociable. Jane and I had both agreed to try to know every girl
in the freshman class this year. I'm glad it has turned out like this.
I'm sure we'll all have a splendid time at the dance, no matter whether
some people like it or not."

"I'm very sure of it, too," declared Kathie Meddart. "I can't understand
how a girl could be so contemptible as to deliberately set out to injure
others."

"Oh, well, she hasn't succeeded," reminded Judith, "so why should we
care? We've invited our freshmen in spite of her."

"What are you going to do about that paper?" Ida Leonard asked a trifle
curiously. "If I were you girls, I think I would make a fuss about it.
We'll stand by you if you do."

"Indeed we will," echoed Marie Benham. "I wouldn't allow such a document
to travel about college."

"It's hard to decide what to do," Jane said gravely. "It might be wiser
to ignore the whole thing. I don't know. We'll have to think it over, I
guess. I thank you girls for your offer to stand by us."

Aside from Freda's opinion that spite had actuated the circulation of
the damaging paper, she and her chums had exhibited an admirable
restraint concerning it. They had evidently accepted Adrienne's sketchy
explanation of it at its face value.

This courteous disinclination to pry had been especially noted and
approved by Jane. It added to the high opinion she already cherished of
the four freshmen. They had been moved solely by a sense of duty to
inform herself and her companions of the outrageous paper.

Jane felt strongly that an explanation was due them, yet she hated to
make it. It would be too much like gossiping, she thought.

"Adrienne told you, a little while ago, that we had done Miss Noble no
harm," she said slowly. "That is really all that I think ought to be
said about this affair. Are you satisfied to leave it so?"

"Perfectly," replied Freda. "I'd rather it would be that way. I can see
no good in dragging up unpleasant things. We'd rather not hear about
them."

"The paper itself speaks for those who drew it up," smiled Marie. "It's
easy to place the blame where it belongs."

Ida and Kathie's warmly expressed opinion coincided with that of their
companion.

"Shall we not speak of more pleasant things? What of the dance? At what
time shall we come for you?"

Adrienne had addressed herself to Freda.

Glad to get away from the distasteful topic they had been discussing,
the girls began to make their arrangements for the freshman frolic.
After a little further talk, the five callers took their leave.

"Well, what are we going to do about it?" demanded Judith, the moment
they had reached the street. "I agree with that nice Miss Benham. We
can't afford to have a paper like that going the rounds of the college."

"I will of my own accord go to the Prexy. He is of _mon pere_ the old
friend. He will not allow that such mischief should be done."

Adrienne threateningly wagged her curly head, as she made this vengeful
announcement.

"Good for you, Imp!" lauded Judith.

"I think either Prexy or Miss Rutledge ought to be told," concurred
Ethel. "It would nip the whole business in the bud. There'll be more of
this sort of thing if it isn't stopped right away.

"Did you hear what I said, Jane?" she questioned over her shoulder to
Jane, who was walking behind her with Norma. Ethel, Adrienne and Judith
had taken the lead.

"Yes, I heard. Let's wait until we get back to the Hall to talk this
over," Jane grimly proposed. "We'll have time to settle it before the
ten-thirty bell."

"Come on, then. Forward march!" ordered Judith. "The sooner we get there
the longer we'll have to talk."

This important point settled, a brisk hike to the Hall became the order.

"Don't stop to talk to anyone," commanded Judith, as they scampered up
the front steps. "Make a bee-line for our room. I'll hang out a 'Busy'
sign, so that we won't be disturbed."

Five minutes later the "Busy" sign was in place and the key turned in
the lock.

"Three of us can sit on my couch. That means you, Imp and Ethel. Now,
Jane and Norma, draw up your chairs. Ahem!" Judith giggled. "What is the
pleasure of this indignation meeting? You know what we think, Jane.
Let's hear from you and Norma."

"Oh, I haven't any voice in the matter," smiled Norma. "That is, I've no
right to decide anything."

"Neither have I, but I'm speaking just the same," laughed Ethel. "I say,
'On to Prexy with the horrible tale.'"

"I think we'd best handle this affair if we can without the faculty's
help," Jane said quietly. "If we went to anyone it ought to be Miss
Rutledge. I'd rather not tell even her. I hate telling tales."

"I don't," disagreed Judith. "If we let it go without saying a word,
we'll have trouble right along. It ought to be stamped out _now_."

"I intend that it shall be," Jane tersely assured.

"How?"

Judith's query rang with skepticism.

"By going straight to Miss Noble and ordering her to stop it," was
Jane's determined reply. "I shall ask her to give me that paper."

"A lot of good that will do." Judith gave a short laugh. "You might as
well tell the wind to stop blowing."

"It will do this much good," retorted Jane. "We shall give Miss Noble
her choice between giving up that paper or being reported to the
faculty."

"Who's going to tell her all this?" demanded Judith in a slightly
ruffled tone.

"I am," returned Jane composedly.

"And I. I shall be there also," instantly supported Adrienne.

"Very fine. It looks as though I'd be there myself."

Judith's annoyed expression vanished in a wide grin.

"When do we do this valiant stunt?" she inquired facetiously. "When does
the great offensive take place?"

"We'll have to put it off until to-morrow," Jane answered. "It's too
late to do it to-night. We'll go to her just before dinner, or else
right after. There won't be time enough in the morning or at noon."

"Suppose she won't let us inside her room?" argued Judith.

"She isn't rooming alone," was Jane's reminder. "I intend to see Alicia
Reynolds to-morrow and find out just why she wouldn't talk to me the
other day. I promised myself that I'd never ask her. But something I saw
to-day makes me feel that I must. This Miss Noble has been making
trouble between us. I'm convinced of that. It can't go on. The tangle
between Alicia and me must be straightened out by a frank understanding
of what caused it. Once that is done, Al