When Evelyn and Jean Brent reached the street it was to find the other young women grouped together in conversation, and not at all alarmed at Evelyn’s non-appearance.

“We weren’t worried,” Emma Dean assured her. “We’ve all been known to lag and loiter.”

“I lagged and loitered to some purpose,” defended Evelyn. “Miss Harlowe, this is Miss Brent, my roommate.” She introduced the stranger to the others.

Grace’s hand was extended in surprised welcome. “We have been looking for you since Monday,” she said. “You are the girl who sat at the end table at Vinton’s. If I had known you were Miss Brent I would have asked you to join us. I am so glad Miss Ward broke the ice. How did it happen?”

“I had lost my purse,” returned the girl, rather shyly, in spite of her air of self-possession. Then reassured by Grace’s charming manner, she told her story.

“You must come with us to Harlowe House at once. It is such a pity that you met with misfortune.” Grace’s gray eyes were full of sympathy. “Have you much luggage?”

“Four trunks,” was the rueful answer. “You see I have so many clothes that—” She stopped abruptly, a deep flush dying her fair skin, “I had no place—I did not like to leave them, so I had to bring them with me,” she finished, rather lamely.

Grace did not ask further questions. She noted that the girl was ill at ease. “I received Miss Lipton’s letter regarding you a week ago,” she hastened to say. “I wrote her, as you know, that we could place you. She answered saying we might expect you at almost any time. After you have had a chance to rest and make yourself comfortable I will tell you of Harlowe House and the girls who live there.”

One after the other the girls spoke friendly, encouraging words to the unfortunate freshman. Kathleen and Patience possessed themselves of her heavy bag, carrying it between them. Grace walked with the newcomer, pointing out the various interesting features of the little college town, in an attempt to put the stranger entirely at her ease after her disquieting experience. So far she had had slight opportunity to observe this latest freshman arrival. She had a vague idea that Jean Brent was an unusually attractive girl, but the side view she obtained of her, as they walked along, was far from satisfactory. The newcomer said little, and only once during the short walk to Harlowe House did she turn a pair of very blue eyes directly upon Grace.

It fell to Evelyn Ward to show her to her room, as she was to be Evelyn’s roommate. The girl had exclaimed a little, after the manner of girls, at the attractiveness of Harlowe House, but in spite of her brief flare of enthusiasm over the house and grounds, the tasteful living room and the daintiness of the room she and Evelyn occupied, she encased herself in a curious, impenetrable shell of mystery that Evelyn’s natural curiosity could find no excuse to penetrate. She listened gravely and attentively to all that Evelyn told her of Harlowe House and its lucky household, but she volunteered no information concerning herself except a reluctant, “I came from the West,” in answer to her roommate’s question as to where she lived.

The more Evelyn observed her the more attractive she appeared. She was of medium height, and, although plump, could not be called stout. Her face was rather round, with no suggestion of fatness, while her features were small and regular. Her eyes were not large, but their intense blueness made them a significant feature of her face. Her hair was light brown and had a burnished look in the sun. It grew thickly upon her well-shaped head, and she wore it in a graceful knot at the back of her head. When she smiled, which had been but once since Evelyn first encountered her, she displayed unusually white, even teeth. It dawned upon Evelyn as she watched her unpacking her bag that Jean Brent had not only her share of good looks but a curious power of attraction as well that would carry her far toward college popularity if she chose to exert it. She wondered if she and Jean would get along well together. Although the new Evelyn had made great progress in ruling her own spirit she was well aware of her failings. She was quite sure, in her own mind, that never again would the love of beautiful clothes tempt her to dishonesty, but of herself, in other respects, she was not so positive. Still she had resolved to live up to the traditions of Overton College, to emulate the splendid example Grace Harlowe had already set.

She glanced speculatively at her roommate, but the latter’s calm, impassive expression told her nothing. Suddenly, as though impelled by Evelyn’s gaze, the other girl glanced up and met Evelyn’s eyes squarely. “Well, what do you think of me?” she inquired. “I think you are the prettiest girl I ever saw.”

Evelyn flushed at both the question and the compliment. Jean Brent was nothing if not frank. “I know I’m going to like you. I was just wondering if we would fit into each other’s lives.”

“I have a frightful temper,” admitted Jean Brent somberly. “Sometimes I’m glad of it. If I hadn’t—” She paused.

Evelyn waited for her to continue, but she gave a quick sigh, and, springing to her feet, walked to the window. From there she could look out at the campus, still green and velvety. For at least five minutes she stood staring out. Then, with the air of one who casts aside a disagreeable memory, she turned from the window, saying: “I’m going to forget everything except the fact that I’m actually an Overton girl.”

“Were you anxious to come to Overton?” asked Evelyn.

“No. I came here because of the advantages Harlowe House offers. I heard of it through a friend. I wanted to go to Smith, but—oh, well, here I am at Overton. Let’s talk about you. I know you are interesting. You look just like the picture of a girl I saw in a magazine I was reading on the train. She is an actress. I didn’t stop to read her name, but I loved her picture. I think I brought the magazine along. Oh, yes, there it is.” She reached for the magazine, which lay on the table, and turned the leaves energetically. “Here is the picture,” she declared. Evelyn found herself gazing at her own likeness. She began to laugh.

“What’s the matter?” demanded Jean. Her color rose in instant resentment of Evelyn’s laughter.

Evelyn pointed to the printed name under the picture. “I am Evelyn Ward, you know.”

“But not the actress?” Jean’s blue eyes were wide with amazement.

Evelyn nodded laughingly. “That’s my way of earning my tuition money and my clothes,” she explained. “I was never on the stage until last summer.” She went on to tell the astonished Jean of her meeting with the Southards and her final stage dÉbut.

“How interesting!” exclaimed Jean. “I suppose all the Harlowe House girls earn their college fees. I wonder how I can earn mine. I had quite a sum toward them when I left—” again came the abrupt stop. “Oh, dear,” she sighed the next moment, “I wish I’d been more careful of my money. I had no business to lay my bag down. What’s the use of regretting? I’ll have to think of some way to raise that money. If I can’t find it any other way I can sell my clothes. I have perfectly beautiful things. Four trunks full. Lots more than I can wear. It is lucky for me that—” She checked herself guiltily.

“That what?” asked Evelyn. She was beginning to feel a vague impatience at the strange way in which Jean Brent chopped off her sentences. And how recklessly she talked about selling her clothes.

“That I have you for a roommate,” smiled the mysterious freshman. “I wonder how much the expressman will charge to bring my trunks from the station. Then, too, I wonder where I can put them. I wouldn’t think of spoiling the looks of our room with them.”

“You can put one of them over in that corner,” planned Evelyn, “and we could get one into the closet. It’s large and quite light. The other two Miss Harlowe will allow you to leave in the trunk room.”

“I suppose it will cost a small fortune to have them delivered,” demurred Jean. “I can’t have the sale, either, until I know some of the girls who would be interested in my wares. I’ll have to telegraph my friend to send me some money. Will you go with me to the telegraph office. I don’t know the way. I’ll ask Miss Harlowe to pay the expressman. Then I’ll pay her when my money comes. Frenzied finance, isn’t it? But if you knew—” Again that maddening break.

“I’ll pay the expressman,” volunteered Evelyn. “If I were you I’d talk things over with Miss Harlowe. She knows that you lost your purse. Very likely she has already thought of something you can do. I don’t think she would like to have you sell your clothes.”

“I don’t see why she should object,” declared Jean, with quick impatience. “However, I’ll do my hair over again, and wash my face and hands, then I’ll go down stairs and have a talk with her. She said she’d be in her office.”

“Run down and talk with her now, then we’ll go to the telegraph office,” said Evelyn.

Twenty minutes later Jean entered the little office where Grace sat engaged in the work she had been doing when interrupted by her friends earlier in the afternoon. Like Evelyn, she was keenly alive to her latest charge’s good looks. “How attractive she is,” was her thought as she invited Jean to take the chair opposite hers.

“I suppose you would like to know something of our household, Miss Brent,” began Grace. “We are not only a household, but we are members of a social club as well. You are the thirty-fourth girl. Last year Miss Thirty-four never materialized, so Miss Ward roomed alone. There isn’t so so much to tell you regarding the rules and regulations of Harlowe House. The club takes care of most of them with its constitution and by-laws.” Opening a drawer of her desk, Grace took out a paper-covered booklet and handed it to the freshman. “This will give you nearly all the necessary information,” she said. “If I were in your place I would go to the registrar’s office reasonably early to-morrow morning. You can then learn whether you will be obliged to take the entrance examinations. Having been graduated from a preparatory school you may be exempt. When did Miss Lipton’s school close?”

“Last June,” returned Jean briefly.

“But you have seen her since then, have you not? Her letter gave me the impression that you had been with her recently. Do you live in Grafton, or were you visiting Miss Lipton?”

The fair face opposite her own was suddenly flooded with red. “I—I—was—on—a visit recently to Miss Lipton,” she answered, with reluctance. She did not volunteer the name of her home town.

For the first time Grace became aware of the curious reticence that had vaguely annoyed Evelyn. “Where do you live, Miss Brent!” she asked with the sudden directness so characteristic of her.

For a moment the girl did not reply, then her color receded, leaving her face very white. “My home is in Chicago,” she said slowly. “My father and mother are dead. I have always lived with”—she hesitated—“friends. Miss Lipton was a friend of my mother’s. Surely her word will not be questioned by the faculty.” She glanced at Grace with a half challenging air.

Something in her tone brought the color to Grace’s cheeks. Why could not this girl be perfectly frank in her replies? Now that Evelyn Ward had turned out so beautifully, Grace had been looking forward to a year of open comradeship with her girls, yet here she was face to face with what promised to be one of those baffling natures that required especially tactful handling to bring out the best that lay within it.

“I have no doubt that Miss Sheldon will place the utmost dependence in Miss Lipton’s word,” returned Grace gravely.

“If she doesn’t, I—oh, well, to-morrow will tell the tale. I wish you would tell me more of Harlowe House. It is a wonderful place. I wanted to go to Smith, but I believe this will be nicer after all. Only I—shall—have to earn my college fees. Miss Ward said perhaps you would help me think of a way to earn money. I have nothing in the world except clothes, clothes, clothes. After I’ve been here for awhile I’d like to have a sale of them. I have loads of lovely things. If I could only sell enough of them to pay my fees.”

“But you will need your clothing for your own use, will you not?” Jean Brent was momently growing more inexplicable.

Jean shook her head energetically. “I don’t care for clothes,” she said eagerly. “I could live in a coat suit and plenty of blouses all year. I do care for college, though. If I hadn’t cared, I would never—” She suddenly checked herself. “Do you think the girls would buy my things?” she asked in the next instant. “They are nearly all new and fresh.”

“I am sure they would be interested,” was Grace’s honest reply, “but I cannot allow you to hold a sale of your wardrobe. I think such a proceeding would be unwise. Why——”

“Please don’t ask me why, Miss Harlowe, for I can’t tell you.” Jean had risen to her feet, two pleading eyes fixed on Grace. “I can only say that if I had not lost my money everything would be different. There are strong reasons why I can’t explain to you about my being without money, yet having so many clothes, but I assure you that I have done nothing wrong or dishonorable. If you are not satisfied with my explanation and wish to send me away, of course I can only go, but if you are willing to trust me and let me stay I’ll try to do my best for you and Harlowe House. I’m sorry you disapprove of my having a sale of my things.”

Grace looked long at the earnest young face. Mystifying as were her statements, Jean Brent had the appearance of honesty. Taking one of the girl’s hands in both her own, she said, “I don’t in the least understand you, Miss Brent, but I will respect your secret.”

“Thank you so much for your kindness to me, Miss Harlowe.” With an almost distant nod the prospective freshman rose and left the office with almost rude abruptness.

“What a strange girl,” mused Grace.

Her musing was interrupted by the breezy entrance of Emma Dean. “Hello, Gracious,” she hailed. “Why so pensive?”

“I’m not pensive. I’m puzzled, and a little worried,” returned Grace. “Our latest arrival is a most complex study.”

“I suspected it,” was Emma’s cheerful rejoinder. “One of the ‘There was the Door to which I found no Key’ variety, so to speak.”

“I’m going to tell you all about it,” decided Grace, “for I need your advice.” She related her interview with Jean Brent.

“Miss Lipton, the head of the Lipton Preparatory School, at Grafton, writes beautifully of Miss Brent,” went on Grace. “I know the faculty would consider her word sufficient to enroll this girl, but I feel that I ought to be doubly careful to keep my household irreproachable. I don’t like mysteries when it comes to admitting a new girl to the fold. Still, Miss Brent impresses me as being honest and sincere. Besides, I’ve promised to help her.”

“Don’t worry, Gracious,” advised Emma, “you may be harboring a princess unawares. The Riddle may turn out to be the Shahess of Persia, or the Grand Vizieress of Bagdad or some other royal person. She may be the moving feature of a real Graustark plot.”

“Stop being ridiculous, Emma, and tell me what I ought to do.” Grace’s smooth forehead puckered in a frown which her laughing lips denied.

Emma was instantly serious. “We do not know just how much college may mean to her,” was her quick response. “If she chooses to shroud herself in mystery, I believe it is because of something which concerns herself alone.”

There was a brief silence, then Grace said: “You are right. To be an Overton girl may mean more to Jean Brent than we can possibly know. I’m going to take her on faith. Perhaps she’ll find college the key that will unlock the door to perfect understanding.”