“Don’t you wish you knew?” teased Grace.  “However, you shan’t find out from me.  I know too well what would happen if you boys traced us to our lair.  But I must go or I shall be late.  Good night, David.  Please be good and don’t follow me.  Promise me you won’t.”

“I never make rash promises,” answered David, smiling.  “Be merciful to the candidates.”  Lifting his cap, the young man hurried off and turned the corner without looking back.

“I wonder what I had better do,” Grace mused.  “I know perfectly well that David Nesbit won’t go away.  He will wait until he thinks I am far enough up the street and then he’ll follow me.  As soon as he finds out where I am going he’ll rush back and hunt up Hippy Wingate and Reddy Brooks.  Goodness knows what the three of them will plan.”

She decided to turn down a side street, go back one block and into the public library.  She could easily leave the library by the side entrance and cut across Putnam Square.  That would mislead David, although no doubt he would find them before the evening was over.

Grace lost no time in putting her plan into action.  As she hurried into the library she looked back, but saw no sign of David.  When she reached Putnam Square she almost ran along the broad asphalt walk.  It was fifteen minutes past seven by the city hall clock, and she did not wish to be late.  The girls had agreed to be there by half past seven.  She was almost across the square when her ear caught the sound of a low sob.  Grace glanced quickly about.  The square was practically deserted, but under one of the great trees, curled up on a bench, was a girl.  Without an instant’s hesitation Grace made for the bench.  She touched the girl on the shoulder and said, “You seem to be in distress.  Can I do anything to help you?”

Then Grace gave a little surprised exclamation.  The face turned toward her was that of Mabel Allison, the freshman prize girl.  The glare from the neighboring light revealed her tear-swollen eyes and quivering lips.  She gave Grace one long, agonized look, then dropped her head on her arm and sobbed harder than ever.

“Why, Miss Allison, don’t cry so,” soothed Grace.  “Tell me what your trouble is.  Perhaps I can be of some service to you.  I’ve wanted to know you ever since you won the freshman prize last June, and so has Anne Pierson.  She won the prize the year before, you know.”

The girl nodded, but she could not sufficiently control herself to speak.

Grace stood silently waiting until the other should find her voice.  A moment more and Mabel Allison began to speak in a plaintive little voice that went straight to Grace’s heart: 

“You are Grace Harlowe.  I believe every girl in Oakdale High School knows you.  I have heard so much about you, but I never dreamed that you’d ever speak to me.”

“Nonsense,” replied Grace, laughing.  “I’m just a girl like yourself.  There isn’t anything remarkable about me.  I’m very glad to know you, Miss Allison, but I am sorry to find you so unhappy.  Can’t you tell me about it?” she coaxed, sitting down on the bench and slipping one arm around the shabby little figure.