A brief silence followed Grace’s remark.  The little speech about her mother had turned the thoughts of the girls homeward.  Suddenly Mabel Ashe rose from her chair.  “Here’s to our mothers, girls.  Let’s dedicate our best efforts to them, and resolve never to lessen their pride in us with failures.”

[Illustration:  Over the Tea and Cakes the Clouds Dispersed.]

When Elfreda, Miriam, Anne and Grace ran up the steps of Wayne Hall at a little before ten o’clock they were laughing and talking so happily they failed to notice Virginia Gaines, who had been walking directly ahead of them.  She had come from Stuart Hall, where, impatient to learn just what had happened the night before, she had gone to see Mary and Alberta.  Finding them out she managed to learn the news from the very girl who had declared herself sorry for her part in the escapade.  This particular sophomore, now that the reaction had set in, was loud in her denunciation of the trick and congratulated Virginia on not being one of those intimately concerned in it.

But Virginia, now conscience-stricken, had little to say.

She still lingered in the hall as the quartette entered, but they passed her on their way upstairs without speaking and she finally went to her room wishing, regretfully, that she had been less ready to quarrel with the girls who bade fair to lead their class both in scholarship and popularity.  It was fully a week afterward when a thoroughly humbled and repentant Virginia, after making sure that Anne was out, knocked one afternoon at Grace’s door.

“How do you do, Miss Gaines,” said Grace civilly, but without warmth.  “Won’t you come in?”

Virginia entered, but refused the chair Grace offered her.  “No, thank you, I’ll stand,” she replied.  Then in a halting fashion she said:  “Miss Harlowe, I—­am—­awfully sorry for—­for being so hateful all this year.”  She stopped, biting her lip, which quivered suspiciously.

Grace stared at her caller in amazement.  Could it be possible that insolent Virginia Gaines was meekly apologizing to her.  Then, thoughtful of the other girl’s feelings, she smiled and stretched out her hand:  “Don’t say anything further about it, Miss Gaines.  I hope we shall be friends.  One can’t have too many, you know, and college is the best place in the world for us to find ourselves.  Come in to-night and have tea and cakes with us after lessons.  That is the highest proof of hospitality I can offer at present.”

“I will,” promised Virginia.  Then impulsively she caught one of Grace’s hands in hers.  “You’re the dearest girl,” she said, “and I’ll try to be worthy of your friendship.  Please tell the girls I’m sorry.  I’ll tell them myself to-night.”  With that she fairly ran from the room, and going to her own shed tears of real contrition.  Later, it took all Grace’s reasoning powers to put Elfreda in a state of mind that verged even slightly on charitable, but after much coaxing she promised to behave with becoming graciousness toward Virginia.