“Just a minute, Miss Allen, please,” pleaded the strange little freshman.  Jane waited till she reached her, then smiled into the serious face of Sally.

“Hello, girlie,” Jane greeted her.  “What’s the excitement?”

“You were so splendid last night, Miss Allen,” panted Sarah Howland, “and I am so ashamed to have to deceive you as you must see I am doing.”  A flush suffused her pale face and she dropped her eyes in pained self-consciousness.  “But just—­now—­for this little while—­I can’t see what else I am going to do!” she stopped and her hands twitched miserably at her knitted scarf.  Evidently the attempt at confession was more difficult than she had anticipated.

“Don’t distress yourself, dear,” Jane soothed.  “I realize you know something of the queer happenings at Lenox, and I can see you have some strong motive for withholding the explanation.  There is a reason, of course, and I have faith in your sincerity.  After all, Wellington is quite a little city in itself, and we are bound to meet queer problems here.  I am on my way to the office now to get one off my mind.”

“Oh, please, Miss Allen, don’t report—­Shirley Duncan,” she stumbled and stuttered over the name.  “I know she is doing queer things but she is such a—­a country girl, and has never had any chances—­”

“Did you know her before she came to Wellington?” asked Jane directly.

“No, yes, that is I knew her just before we came,” replied the girl, very much confused and plainly embarrassed.

“I have noticed you seem to be friends,” Jane pressed.

“Yes, sort of.  But I do not agree with her in her attitude toward college life,” replied Sarah hurriedly—­markedly so.  She was trying to shift the subject, Jane saw that plainly.

“It’s good of you to plead for her,” commented Jane, “but you see, my dear, juniors are quite grown up and are expected to uphold the college traditions.  We really can’t consider an individual where a college principle is concerned.”  Jane had her eye on Madison and was shifting to move that way.  The freshman laid a detaining hand on her arm.

“If you could just—­be persuaded to wait until after mid-year,” she said, “perhaps then—­things might look differently.”

“But Sally, you know I saw you run out of that prohibited beauty shop, and you must know we Wellingtons in good standing do not patronize that place!”

This accusation startled Sarah.  She dropped Jane’s arm and all but gasped:  “When did you see me there?”

“The day of that absurd police business when my friend Miss Stearns was so humiliated,” Jane said severely.

“Oh, Miss Allen,” and tears welled into Sarah’s eyes.  “I can’t explain, and I am so miserable.  Perhaps—­perhaps I should not try—­” Tears choked the wretched girl, and Jane relented at sight of her misery.

“Really, Sally,” she changed her tone, “I do feel awfully sorry to see a freshman in distress, and I am sure I do not want to add to it.  I won’t go to the office now, if that will make you feel better, but I simply must do all I can to solve the mystery of the horrible night noises at Lenox.  Here come the girls from their hike; dry your eyes and try to look pleasant.”