“What time had I best try to see her?” Grace asked herself.  She had come from Overton Hall with Anne and Miriam late that afternoon and the three girls had lingered on the steps of Wayne Hall, reluctant to go indoors.  Spring was getting ready to fulfill all sorts of tender promises she had made to her children.  The buds on the trees were bursting into tiny new green leaves.  The crocuses were in bloom in the yards along College Street, and the grass on the campus was growing greener every hour.  The roads, too, were obligingly drying, so that adventurous walkers might visit their favorite haunts in the country surrounding Overton without running the risk of wading in the mud.

There was Guest House, the famous colonial tea shop that had been built and used as an inn during the Revolution.  In this quaint historic place ample refreshment was to be found.  There one could satisfy one’s appetite with dainty little sandwiches, muffins and jam, tea cakes and tea, fresh milk or buttermilk.

There was also Hunter’s Rock that overhung the river, and whose smooth, flat surface made an ideal spot for picnickers.  It was five miles from Overton, but extremely popular with all four classes, and from early spring until late fall, it was occupied on Saturday by various gay gipsy parties from the college.  Then there were canoes for the venturesome, and staid old rowboats for the cautious, to be hired at a nominal sum, while girlish figures dotted the golf course and the tennis courts.  Girls strolled about the campus in the early evenings, or gathered in groups on the steps of the campus houses.  It was the time of year when spring creeps into one’s blood, making one forget everything except the blueness of the sky, the softness of the air and the lure of green things growing.

“I must go into the house,” sighed Miriam Nesbit.  “I have that appalling trigonometry lesson for to-morrow to prepare from beginning to end.  I haven’t looked at it yet.”

“I peeped at it yesterday,” said Anne.  “It’s the worst one we’ve had, so far.”

“The end is not yet,” reminded Grace.

“Well it will be in sight before long.  Our freshman year is almost over, didn’t you know it, children!” queried Miriam laughingly.

“It has seemed long in some respects and short in others,” reflected Grace.  “I think—­” Grace paused.  A tall, rather stout girl came hurriedly up the walk.  She stalked up the steps and into the house without looking to the right or left.  Even in that fleeting moment Grace noted that she seemed rather excited and that she carried in her hand an open letter.  “I wonder if now would be a good time to tackle her,” speculated Grace.  Then deciding that, after all, there was nothing to be gained without making a venture, Grace walked resolutely to the door.  “I’ll see you later, girls,” was her only remark as she passed inside.

Once outside Elfreda’s door, Grace did not feel quite so confident.  Summoning all her courage, however, she knocked.  An impatient voice called, “Come in,” and Grace accepted the rather ungracious invitation to enter.  J. Elfreda sat facing the window intent upon the letter Grace had seen in her hand.  She turned sharply as the door closed, then catching sight of Grace, sprang to her feet, her face clouded with anger.  “How dare you come in here?” she stormed.