They departed majestically, and the girls were left to spend their five minutes in discussion of the visit.

“I don’t see why I have to belong,” grumbled Libbie.

“It will do you good,” said Bobby severely.  “When I promised Aunt Elizabeth to look after you, I didn’t know that meant I would have to risk my head by sleeping under ‘Lady Gwendolyn’ in two volumes—­and fat ones at that”

Libbie had the grace to blush.  Bobby, who was fond of books but whose taste ran to “Rules for Basketball” and “How to Gain Health Through Exercise,” had put up a small shelf directly over her bed to hold her literary treasures.  Libbie, exhausting the space in her tiny corner bookcase had thoughtlessly placed the two heavy volumes of the story Bobby mentioned on top of her cousin’s books with the awful result that the shelf broke in the night and spilled the books on the wrathful Bobby.

“Let’s go down to the study hall,” suggested peace-loving Louise.  “The five minutes are up.”

Down they trooped, to find a number of girls already there, for the most part looking rather frightened.

At five minute intervals other groups entered, until all the freshman class was assembled.

“I don’t care anything about this society,” whispered Ada Nansen to Ruth Royal.  “I wouldn’t give fifty cents for an organization where no discrimination is shown in choosing the members.  However, this is Mrs. Eustice’s pet scheme, they tell me, and I want to stand well with her.  Next year I’m going to get elected to the White Scroll, you see if I don’t.”

The Mysterious Four came in as the last group of girls were seated and slowly mounted the platform.

“Candidates,” announced the leader, “you are summoned here to take your first degree.  It is simple, but no shirking is to be permitted.  You are to do the one thing that you do best.  As your names are called, you will mount the platform and comply.  Four minutes is allowed for decision—­on the platform.”

There was a gasp from the audience, and one could almost see the mental cog wheels of sixty girls going furiously to work.

“Betty,” whispered the desperate Bobby, “what can you do best?”

“Ride, I guess,” said Betty, recollections of Clover coming to mind.

There was a crashing chord from the piano.  One of the veiled figures had seated herself at the instrument and now proceeded to play “appropriate selections” as the candidates performed their turns.

As the clever leader had foreseen, no one relished spending her allotted four minutes for reflection on the platform in full view of the audience, and the majority of the victims made up their minds with a rush.

After they had entered into the spirit of the thing, it was fun, and their shrieks of laughter aroused sympathetic smiles in other rooms.  No teachers and no member of the other classes were permitted to enter, but Aunt Nancy, the fat cook, and half a dozen young waitresses peeped in at the door and enjoyed the spectacle hugely.