The main building possessed a handsome doorway, and here the busses stopped and discharged their passengers.

“Ada, my dear love!” cried a girl from the bus behind the one in which Betty and her friends had ridden.

An over-dressed, stout girl advanced upon Ada Nansen and kissed her affectionately.

“Look quick!  That’s Ruth Gladys Royal!” whispered Bobby.  “I hope they room together—­they’ll be a pair.  Ada, my dear love!” she mimicked wickedly.  “Libbie, let that be a warning to you—­Ruth Gladys Royal is terribly romantic, too!”

Miss Anderson, smiling and unhurried, marshaled her charges into the large foyer and announced that they would be assigned to rooms before luncheon.

“Mrs. Eustice will speak to you in the assembly hall this afternoon,” said Miss Anderson.  “And you will meet her and the teachers for a little social hour.”

Two busy young clerks were at work in the office adjoining the foyer, and for those who were already provided with a room-mate the task of securing a room was a matter of only a few moments.

Our girls, with the exception of Louise, had paired off when they had registered for the term.  Bobby Littell and Betty Gordon were, of course, inseparable.  Libbie and Frances, great friends in their home town, naturally gravitated together, though Betty would have chosen a less studious room-mate for the dreamy Libbie—­she needed a girl who would know more accurately what she was doing.  Norma and Alice Guerin were to share a room, and Louise felt forlornly out of things when Miss Anderson came up to her bringing a red-haired, freckle-faced girl with wide gray eyes and a boyish grin.

“Louise Littell—­you are Louise, aren’t you?” asked the teacher.  “Well, here’s a girl who’s come to us from a Western army post.  Her name is Constance Howard, and she doesn’t know a single girl.  Don’t you think you two might be happy together?”

Constance smiled again, and Louise warmed perceptibly.  Louise was the least friendly of the three Littell girls.

“I’ll let you play my ukulele,” offered Constance eagerly.

“Let me.  She doesn’t know a ukulele from a music box,” said Bobby, with sisterly frankness.  “Come on, girls, let’s go up and see our rooms.”

They tramped up the broad staircase and crossed one of the bridges to find themselves in a delightful, sunny building with corridors carpeted in softest green.  The rooms apparently were all connecting, and the teacher who met them said the eight friends might have adjoining rooms as long as “they gave no trouble.”

“I’m your corridor teacher, Miss Lacey,” she explained.

“Let’s be glad she isn’t the one we saw on the train,” whispered the irrepressible Bobby, as they all trooped into the first room.

CHAPTER XI

FIRST IMPRESSIONS