Doris’s thoughts were so entirely centered on the disagreeable effect her decision would have upon Leslie Cairns she did not stop to consider what her freshie and sophomore admirers might think of her change of plans. She decided to wait two days before writing to Leslie. She had been rather shaky in mathematics for a week past and needed to devote herself assiduously to it until she was beyond a stage that courted being conditioned. She had sweetly assured Muriel that she would not change her mind at the last minute.

She put off the writing of the note to Leslie until she had finished her self-appointed review in mathematics. She wished to have a free mind in which to write Leslie. Her note should be a triumph of cleverness. On this point she was determined.

In the meantime Muriel had circulated the news that Doris was to be her Christmas guest, with an innocently smiling face. Clever Muriel did not propose to give her sophomore catch an opportunity to wriggle out of her agreement at the last minute. “It’s just as well to publish the Ice Queen’s thaw from the housetops,” she gaily confided to Jerry and Marjorie. “The amazing fact that the Ice Queen and I are chummy will have a soothing, beneficial effect upon such revolutionists as the Phonograph, the Prime Minister, and such.”

“There is some truth in your disrespectful remarks about these erring sophie sisters,” Jerry had reluctantly agreed. “We can only trust, Matchless Muriel, that you may always get away with your reckless use of pet names. I believe I’ve mentioned this hope before.”

While Doris, having coolly mapped out her own course, was as coolly pursuing her own way, Leslie was impatiently waiting to hear from her. She believed that Doris was too greatly bent on going with her to New York to remain miffed. Doris would soon write or call her on the telephone.

Instead of two days it took Doris three to complete her mathematical review. During that time she kept a “Busy” sign in frequent display upon the door, a proceeding which Muriel had advised her to do. Since her acceptance of Muriel’s invitation the two girls had become far more friendly than before. Both felt the relief attending the change and welcomed the pleasant interest it permitted them to exhibit in each other’s campus affairs.

On the fourth afternoon following her quarrel with Leslie Cairns, Doris hurried to her room from her trigonometry period, bent in writing the letter to Leslie. It lacked only three days of the closing of Hamilton College for the holidays. It was high time she wrote it, she reflected. During the next three busy days there would be little opportunity. She sighed audible satisfaction as she entered the room to find it deserted. She hoped Muriel would remain away until dinner time. Prudently she brought out the busy sign from its place in the table drawer and affixed it with a brass tack to an outside panel of the door.

Having finally settled herself at the study table to write she spent several minutes in thoughtful deliberation before she wrote:

“Dear Leslie:

“You know, of course, in what an annoying position you placed me by disappointing me about our New York vacation. I had been invited by a number of other girls, some of them upper class, to spend Christmas at their homes. I refused the invitations—saying that I had already been invited by a dear friend to spend the holidays in New York. Naturally, after you had failed me, I could hardly have the bad taste to go to any one of these friends, stating that I had changed my mind.

“Since you disappointed me, Miss Harding, my roommate has invited me to spend Christmas with her at her Sanford home. I have accepted. Although you said, just before I left you the other day at the Colonial, that you had re-considered, and would try to arrange the New York trip, I was not impressed. I doubted your intention to keep your word. You have a habit—”

A forceful fist applied to the door, regardless of the “Busy” sign, brought Doris to her feet with a displeased “Oh!” She stood for a brief moment, hesitating, before she made any movement toward the door. While the sign was warranted to keep away other students, it was not prohibitive to Miss Remson, the maids or the laundress.

“Oh!” she exclaimed again as her eyes took in the tall, severe figure of Julia Peyton.

The yellow-white of the sophomore’s complexion turned to dull red under the bored scrutiny of Doris’s sea-green eyes. “I saw your sign.” She rolled her black eyes toward it. “I simply had to disregard it. I knew you were alone. It was too good a chance to miss. I really had to see you.”

“Why?” was Doris’s close-clipped question. She had not yet invited the other girl into the room. She knew she was rude, but she did not care. She did not like Julia Peyton, although Julia was one of her most annoyingly devoted admirers.

“Oh, for a very important reason. To prove to you that I am a true friend, Doris,” Julia wagged her black head in time to her last four emphatic words.

“I don’t in the least understand you,” Doris returned stiffly. “Come in. I am really awfully busy. I have an important letter to—”

“I won’t stay long,” Julia assured, entering with an alacrity which indicated the importance of her own mission. Without waiting to be invited she sat down in a wicker chair and burst forth: “You’re not really going home for Christmas with Miss Harding, are you? I was told so yesterday, but I didn’t believe it. I heard the same silly report today. It worried me. I simply had to come to you with it.”

“Why should such a report worry you?” Doris demanded half in disdain.

“Because I’d hate to see you put yourself in a position where you might be ridiculed.” Julia eyed Doris with mysterious pity.

“Ridiculed?” Doris’s greenish eyes widened in instant offense. Her exclamation was one of haughty unbelief. “Do say what you are trying to say, directly,” she commanded. “I have yet to place myself open to ridicule.”

“That’s just what I told Clara,” cried Julia. “I was sure you wouldn’t go home for Christmas with that horrid Miss Harding.”

“But I am going home with her,” Doris returned with elaborate unconcern. A tantalizing impulse to nettle Julia seized her. “She is not horrid. She is clever, and rather good fun.” Doris drew the chair, in which she had been sitting when Julia knocked, away from the table. She sat down and cast a measuring glance at her tiresome caller.

“You won’t think so after you know why she has invited you to her home.” The sophomore’s black brows drew together. Her round black eyes assumed their most “moony” appearance. “She invited you because she couldn’t find anybody else at Hamilton to invite. I have found out positively that she has invited four different off-campus girls and everyone of them has turned her down.” Julia’s voice rose in shrill triumph. “What do you think of that.”

Without waiting to hear Doris’s opinion she rattled on maliciously. “Miss Dean and that crowd Miss Harding is chummy with have been pretending to be the ones who have invited those off-campus beggars to their homes for the holidays. I know for a fact that none of them have done much in that direction. Miss Dean, who’s supposed to be such a sweet little model of goodness and generosity, is going to entertain at home—not the off-campus frumps. Oh, no! She is going to take Miss Harper, Miss Mason, Miss Page home with her. Miss Macy will lug home that tall, blue-eyed, lazy-looking girl that’s visiting Miss Remson. Miss Lynne has invited Miss Moore and Miss Severn. Even grouchy Miss Warner is going to entertain Langly. That’s the way they benefit their precious ‘dormitory girls’ that they are always crowing about.”

“I fail to see how all this applies to me.” Doris showed plain signs of becoming frosty. She was only half interested in Julia’s lengthy, spiteful argument.

“I’m only trying to show you how selfish and what fakes that crowd of priggies are. Just the same what I said about Miss Harding having invited you because she couldn’t get anyone else applies to you,” was Julia’s dogged assertion. “I heard she felt sorry for you because you—well, had no home influences—er—that you came clear from England alone and—that—and—” Julia floundered desperately, then paused.

“What does Miss Harding know of me? Nothing.” Doris sprang to her feet in a swift blaze of wrath. “Who told you she said such things of me?”

Julia solemnly shook her head. As a matter of truth she was merely repeating several of her roommate’s, Clara Carter’s, vague suppositions. “I can’t tell you that. She—er—I only heard she felt that way about you. You see, Doris, I asked you to go home with me for the holidays, but you said you were going to New York,” she reminded in reproachful tones. “I supposed you would go with Miss Cairns. All of a sudden you turned around and accepted Miss Harding’s invitation. I thought it rather unfair in you, when I had asked you first of all. I thought you might at least have come to me and said—”

“I will not be lectured by anyone!” Doris cried out angrily. “I don’t care what you thought. I could explain to you precisely why I accepted an invitation from Miss Harding to spend Christmas with her at her home, but I shall not do it.”

“I shouldn’t call a friendly confidence, such as I’ve just given you, a lecture. I’m sure I haven’t asked you to explain anything. I think I’d better go now. I’ve done my duty as your friend, even if you can’t understand that now. You will sometime soon, I hope.” Julia rose, stalked to the door; a picture of offended dignity. “You’ll be sorry if you go home with Miss Harding.” She could not resist this last fling. “You’ll lose caste on the campus. Remember, she has invited you as a last choice.”

“I am not going home with Miss Harding.” Doris brought one slippered foot down with an angry stamp. “I suppose I ought to thank you for telling me what you have. I don’t feel like thanking anyone for anything. I shall go to New York for Christmas.”

“With Miss Cairns?” eagerly quizzed Julia.

“Yes, with Miss Cairns,” Doris answered; then added bitterly: “She has invited me to go there with her because we are friends; not because she feels sorry for me.”