With the approach of the Thanksgiving holidays a great pleasure and a great sorrow came to Grace. The “pleasure” was the joyful news that Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe had accepted an invitation to spend Thanksgiving in New York City with the Nesbits. This news meant that, for the first time since her entrance into college as a freshman, Grace would have the supreme satisfaction of being with her adored parents on Thanksgiving Day. Anne, Miriam and Elfreda would be with her, too, which made the anticipation of her four days’ vacation doubly dear.

Then almost identical with this great joy had come the great sorrow. Miss Wilder was going away. For the past year she had not been well, and now she had been ordered West for her health. During Grace’s first year at Harlowe House the regard which Miss Wilder had always felt for her as a student had gradually deepened until the two were on terms of intimacy. Grace felt the same freedom in going to the dean with her difficulties as she had with Miss Thompson, her loved principal of high-school days.

It seemed to her as though this staunch friend, with her kindly tolerance, and her amazing knowledge of girl nature, could never be replaced. No matter how worthy of respect and admiration her successor might be, she could never quite equal Miss Wilder. The possibility of Overton without her had never occurred to Grace. True she had noted on several occasions that Miss Wilder looked very pale and tired. She was considerably thinner, too, than when Grace had entered college as a freshman, yet she had always given out the impression of tireless energy. Grace had never heard her complain of ill health, yet here she was, threatened with a nervous breakdown. The only remedy, a complete rest. As soon as her successor had been appointed she would start for an extended western trip in search of health, which only time, the open air and rest could restore. At the older woman’s request Grace spent as much time as possible in her company. They had long talks over the subject that lay closest to the young house mother’s heart, the welfare of her flock, and Grace derived untold benefit from the dean’s counsel.

It now lacked only a little time until Overton College would lose one of its staunchest friends. Divided between the anticipation of meeting and the pain of parting, Grace hardly knew her own state of mind. It was with a very sober face that she hung the telephone on its receiver one gray November morning, and slipping into her wraps, set out for Overton Hall in obedience to Miss Wilder’s telephoned request. The new dean, Miss Wharton, had arrived, and Miss Wilder was anxious that Grace should meet her. Miss Wharton had expressed herself as interested in Miss Wilder’s account of Harlowe House and its unique system of management. She had also expressed her desire to meet Grace, and Miss Wilder, hopeful that this interest might prove helpful to Grace, had readily acceded to her wish.

Grace set forth for Overton Hall in good spirits, but whether it was the effect of the raw November morning or that the shadow of parting hung heavily over her, she suddenly felt her exhilaration vanish. A strange sense of gloomy foreboding bore down upon her. She found herself strangely reluctant to meet Miss Wharton. She had a strong desire to about-face and return to Harlowe House. “What is the matter with you, Grace Harlowe?” she said half aloud. With an impatient squaring of her shoulders she marched along determined to be cheerful and make the best of what she could not change.

As she entered Miss Wilder’s office her quick glance took in the short, rather stout figure seated beside Miss Wilder. This, then, was Miss Wharton. What Grace saw in that quick glance was a round, red, satisfied face lit by two cold pale blue eyes, and surmounted by lifeless brown hair, plentifully streaked with gray. There was neither grace nor majesty in her short, dumpy figure, and Grace’s first impression of her was decidedly unpleasant. An impression which she never had reason to change.

Miss Wilder rose to meet Grace with outstretched hand. “My dear, I am glad to see you this morning.”

“And I to see you,” responded Grace, her gray eyes full of affectionate regard. “How are you feeling to-day, Miss Wilder?”

“Very well, indeed, for me,” smiled the dean. “Almost well enough to give up my western rest, but not quite. My heart is in my work here. It is hard to leave it even for a little while. But I am leaving it in good hands. I wish you to meet Miss Wharton, Grace.”

She presented Grace to the other woman, who did not offer to take the hand Grace extended, but bowed rather distantly. The color stung Grace’s cheeks at the slight. Still she forced herself to try to say honestly, “I am glad to know you, Miss Wharton.”

“Thank you,” was the cold response, “You are much younger than I was led to believe. It is rather difficult to imagine you as the head of a campus house. You give one the impression of being a student.”

Grace’s eyes were fixed on the new dean with grave regard. Was this salutary speech purely impersonal or did a spice of malicious meaning lurk within it? Not since those far-off days when Miss Leece, a disagreeable teacher of mathematics at Oakdale High School, had made her algebra path a thorny one had she encountered any instructor that reminded her in the least of the one teacher she had thoroughly despised. Yet, as she strove to fight back her growing dislike and reply impersonally, she was seized with the conviction that even as she and Miss Leece had been wholly opposed to each other, so surely would she and Miss Wharton find nothing in common. After what seemed an hour, but was in reality a minute, Grace forced herself to smile and say with quiet courtesy, “This is my second year as house mother at Harlowe House. I am frequently taken for a student. I really feel no older than my girls, and I hope I shall always feel so.”

“It isn’t years that count with Miss Harlowe,” smiled Miss Wilder, coming to Grace’s defense. “It is the ability to keep things moving successfully, and Miss Harlowe has shown that ability in a marked degree,” she added.

“Has she, indeed?” returned Miss Wharton, with what Grace felt to be forced politeness. “I shall be interested in visiting Harlowe House and learning Miss Harlowe’s successful methods of management.” Then she turned to Miss Wilder and began a conversation from which it appeared as though she deliberately sought to exclude Grace.

“I must go, Miss Wilder,” said Grace, rising almost immediately. She decided that she could not and would not endure Miss Wharton’s rudeness.

Miss Wilder looked distressed. She could not understand Miss Wharton’s attitude, therefore there was nothing to do save ignore it.

“Very well, my dear. Run in and see me to-morrow. I shall be here from two o’clock until four in the afternoon.” She took one of Grace’s soft hands in both of hers. The brown eyes met the gray questioning ones with a look of love and trust. Grace’s resentment died out. She said a formal good-bye to Miss Wharton and hurried from the room. She would go to see Miss Wilder the next day as she had requested. Perhaps Miss Wharton’s rude reception of her was due merely to a brusque trait of character. Perhaps she belonged to the old school who believed that youth and responsibility could not go hand in hand. At any rate she would try hard not to judge. Although she usually found her first impressions to be correct, still there were always exceptions. Miss Wharton might prove to be the exception.

On her way home she stopped at Wayne Hall. To her it was a house of tender memories, and she never entered its hospitable doors without half expecting to see the dear, familiar faces of the girls long gone from there to the busy paths of the outside world.

“Why, how do you do, Miss Harlowe?” was Mrs. Elwood’s delighted greeting. “It certainly is good to see you. I think you might run over oftener when you’re so near, but I s’pose you have your hands full with all those thirty-four girls. Did you come to see Miss West and Miss Eliot? If you did, they’re both at home, for a wonder. Miss West doesn’t have a recitation at this hour, and Miss Eliot’s sick.”

“Sick!” Grace sprang to her feet. “Oh, I must run up and see her at once. To tell you the truth, Mrs. Elwood, I came to see you. I hadn’t the least idea that either of the girls were in, but if you’ll forgive me this time I’ll run upstairs to see Patience and make you a special visit some other day.”

“Oh, I’ll forgive you, all right,” laughed Mrs. Elwood. “I’m glad to see your bright face, if it’s only for five minutes, Miss Harlowe.”

“You’re a dear.” Grace dropped a soft kiss on Mrs. Elwood’s cheek, then hurried up the stairs, two at a time. Pausing at the old familiar door at the end of the hall, she knocked. There was a quick, light step. The door opened and Kathleen West fairly pounced upon her.

“Look who’s here! Look who’s here!” she chanted triumphantly. The tall, fair girl in the lavender silk kimono, who reclined in the Morris chair, turned her head languidly, then gave a cry of delight.

“You poor girl!” Grace embraced Patience affectionately. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Oh, just a cold,” croaked Patience. “In the words of J. Elfreda, ‘I’m a little horse.’” Her blue eyes twinkled. “It’s worth being sick to have you here, Grace.”

“I’ve been intending to come over every night this week, but I’m so busy,” sighed Grace. “The Service Bureau keeps me hustling.”

“What a progressive lot of people you Harlowites are,” praised Kathleen. “Did you know that Mary is doing a story about you and your family for our paper. Of course there are no names mentioned. I saw to that.” Kathleen flushed. She recalled a time when she had used Grace’s name without permission.

“Yes, I know about it,” smiled Grace, “and I know that no names are mentioned.”

Kathleen’s color heightened. Then she remarked: “By the way, that Miss Brent must have realized a nice sum of money from her sale. When did she have it, Grace? We didn’t hear a word of it. It must have been a very select affair. I’m sorry I didn’t know of it, for I wanted to buy an evening dress. Rita Harris bought a beauty. Tell us about this latest acquisition to Harlowe House. How does she happen to have such wonderful clothes, and why didn’t she go to work for the Service Bureau instead of selling them? I’m fairly buzzing with curiosity.”

Grace viewed Kathleen in amazement. “I don’t understand you, Kathleen,” she said, in a perplexed tone. “I have heard nothing of a sale.”

“But Miss Brent held it at Harlowe House a week ago last Saturday,” persisted Kathleen. “It is evident she didn’t wish you to know it or you would have been there, too.”

Grace’s amazed expression changed to one of vexed concern. She now understood. “One week ago last Saturday I was in New York City,” she said soberly. “Until this moment I knew nothing of any such sale. In fact I had objected to the plan when Miss Brent proposed it to me. If she had wished to dispose of certain of her personal belongings to any one girl I should have said unhesitatingly that it was her own affair, but a general sale is a different matter. The eyes of the college are, to a great extent, directed toward Harlowe House. It’s position among the other campus houses is unique. That the girls who live there are given a home free of charge makes them doubly liable to criticism. They must be worthy of their privileges.”

Kathleen nodded in emphatic agreement. “Of course they must. I understand fully your position in regard to them, Grace.”

“You mean the girl we met that day at Vinton’s, don’t you?” inquired Patience. “She had been robbed of her money in the train.”

“Yes; she is the very girl.”

“How do you reconcile her lack of means to pay her college expenses with this wonderful wardrobe that Kathleen has just told us of?”

“I don’t reconcile them. I can’t. That is just the trouble.” Grace looked worried. “Speaking in strict confidence, I have really taken Miss Brent on trust. I have asked her to explain certain things to me, and she has refused to do so. On the other hand she is warmly championed by the principal of one of the most select preparatory schools in the country. Then, too, she assures me that at some future day she will explain everything. Emma calls her the Riddle. It’s an appropriate name, too.” Grace made a little despairing gesture.

“You are the greatest advocate of the motto, ‘Live and let live’ that I have ever run across, Grace,” smiled Patience, “but,” her face grew serious, “I believe you ought to insist on Miss Brent’s full explanation of her mysterious ways. If the news of this sale happens to reach faculty ears you are likely to be criticized for allowing it.”

“But I didn’t allow it,” protested Grace. “I refused my consent to it.”

“Yet you are the last one to defend yourself at another’s expense,” reminded Kathleen. “You’d rather be misjudged than to see this girl, who hasn’t even trusted you, placed in an unpleasant position.”

Grace’s color deepened. “I promised to trust her,” she said at last. “At first I felt just as you do about this. Then I talked with her. She seemed honest and sincere. I decided that perhaps it would be better not to force her confidence. Young girls are often likely to make mountains of mole-hills. Still, Emma thinks just as you do,” she added. “She didn’t at first, but she does now. I’m sure she knows nothing of the sale. She would have told me.”

“I just happened to remember,” began Kathleen, her straight brows drawn together in a scowl, “that Evelyn Ward rooms with Miss Brent. Evelyn must have known of the sale. Do you mind, if I ask her about it?”

“Ask her if you like.” Grace spoke wearily. Everything was surely going wrong to-day. She had intended to tell Patience and Kathleen about her trip to New York. She had visited Anne and the Southards and spent two delightful days. After what she had heard she felt that there was nothing to say. “I must go,” she announced abruptly. “I’ll come again to-morrow to see you, Patience. A speedy recovery to you. Come and see me, both of you, whenever you can. By the way, I met Miss Wharton, the new dean, this morning.”

“What is she like?” asked Kathleen.

“I can hardly tell you. She is different from Miss Wilder. I saw her only for a moment. She seems distant. Still one can’t judge by first appearances. I must go. Good-bye, girls.”

Grace left her friends rather hurriedly. She was ready to cry. The revelations of the morning had been almost too much for her. It was hard indeed to be snubbed, but it was harder still to be deceived. “It’s all in the day’s work,” she whispered, over and over again, as she crossed the campus. “I must be brave and accept what comes. It’s all in the day’s work.”