“Are there many freshmen at Stuart Hall?” asked Beatrice Alden.

“Too many to suit me,” was the emphatic answer.

“If you are so down on freshmen in general, how in the world do you manage to endure that dreadful Miss Briggs?”

“J.  Elfreda is a joke,” replied Alberta.  “Nevertheless, she is a very useful joke.  In the first place, she has plenty of money to spend, and we see to it that she spends a good share of it on us.  Then, too, we can borrow money of her.  She is a great convenience.  The funny part of it is she doesn’t know about that letter we wrote.  For once that priggish Miss Harlowe did manage to hold her tongue to some purpose.”

“Suppose she does find out?”

“She can’t prove that we wrote the note,” was the quick retort.  “When Miss Harlowe tried to pin us to it that day at Stuart Hall I merely said that a number of sophomores felt justified in sending the note.  Of course, she drew her own conclusions, but conclusions are far from proof, you know.  She would hardly dare circulate any reports concerning it.  We aren’t going to bother with J. Elfreda much longer at any rate.  It’s getting too near warm weather to risk being bored to death.  Mary expects a check from home soon, and I’ve written Mother for some extra money, so we won’t need hers.  Besides, I don’t wish to let our acquaintance lap over into my junior year.  She’s frightfully ill bred, and I’m going to begin to be more careful about my associates next year.”

“What a frightful snob you are, Bert,” said Beatrice rather disgustedly.

“Well, you are my first cousin, you know,” retorted Alberta significantly.  “I never considered you particularly democratic.”

“I’m not deceitful, at any rate,” reminded Beatrice.  “If I dislike a girl I take no pains to conceal it, and I am certainly not a grafter.”

“Neither am I, Beatrice Alden, and the fact of your being my cousin doesn’t give you the right to insult me.  I intended to tell you about a stunt we had planned for Friday night, but since you seem to be so conscientious about Miss Briggs, I shan’t tell you anything.”

Then a silence fell that was broken the next instant by the violent slam of the front door.  Grace rose to her feet, took a step forward, paused irresolutely, then pushing apart the heavy curtains walked into the other room.  Beatrice Alden stood unconcernedly running through the leaves of a magazine she had picked up from the table.

“Miss Alden!”

The senior turned quickly, looking inquiringly, then sternly, at Grace.  “How long have you been here?” she said abruptly.

“I heard part of the conversation,” replied Grace coldly.  “When you began talking I recognized your voices, then I heard my name mentioned, and true to the old adage about listeners I heard no good of myself.  When I heard Miss Briggs’s name spoken I decided that under the circumstances I was justified in listening further, as I intended at any rate to announce my presence and just what I heard as soon as you two had finished speaking.  Miss Wicks’s sudden departure prevented me from carrying out my intention as far as she was concerned.  I shall, however, notify her at the earliest opportunity.”  Grace paused, looking squarely at the older girl.