Not very long after the Five Travelers returned to Wayland Hall the half-past ten o’clock bell sounded. Desirous of complying with the rules of the college from the start, they had prepared for sleep in much greater haste than usual, a proceeding which Veronica deplored most of all. Accustomed to making leisurely preparations for retiring, she had known beforehand that this would be her chief annoyance when at college.

For fully twenty-five minutes after the penetrating clang of the house bell had ceased, sound of voices and light footsteps in the hall indicated that a few students, at least, were not taking the ten-thirty rule very seriously.

“What was that?” Jerry, who had dropped to sleep almost on the instant her head had found the pillow, started up in the darkness, awakened by the sharp slam of a door further down the hall.

“Oh, someone slammed a door,” Marjorie replied sleepily. “I was almost asleep, but not quite. It startled me, too. There seems to be very little attention paid to the retiring bell in this house. I’ve heard the girls talking and laughing in the halls ever since it rang. It’s quieter now. I imagine next week it will be different. College doesn’t really open until Monday, you know.”

“Busy Buzzy doesn’t look as though she would stand for much noise. She’ll begin laying down the law about next week. I hope whoever slammed that door hasn’t the habit. Well, what now!”

From somewhere out on the campus the musical rhythm of chimes had begun. They played the quarter, the half, the three-quarters of the hour, then sweetly and clearly the stroke of eleven followed. Listening to it, Marjorie felt a strange new peace of mind steal over her. Longfellow’s understanding lines:

“Thenightshallbefilledwithmusic,
Andthecaresthatinfesttheday,
ShallfoldtheirtentsliketheArabs,
Andsilentlystealaway.”

The silvery tones had a vastly soothing effect upon her troubled spirit. Altogether, it had been one of the most dispiriting days she had ever lived. She now hailed the ringing of the chimes as a kind of lullaby to her cares. Here was a second friend of whom she was sure she could never grow tired.

“That’s eleven o’clock. Didn’t those chimes sound pretty? I suppose that’s the end of the limit bell here at Hamilton. If you aren’t in bed when the chimes play eleven, you are a disgrace to your Alma Mater. If you aren’t asleep by that time, well—you can hear ’em. I’ve heard them, I’m going to sleep this minute. Night, Sweet Marjoram.”

“Good night, Jeremiah.” Marjorie lay awake for a little, her thoughts on her father and mother. She knew that they were thinking of her and a sense of soothing warmth enfolded her, born of the knowledge of their steadfast adoration.

Marjorie awakened next morning to find the sun in her eyes and herself not quite certain of where she was. She glanced across the room to where Jerry’s couch was situated. It was without an occupant. “Oh!” she exclaimed in consternation. Her eyes hastily sought the mission wall clock. It was only ten minutes to seven. Reassured, she lay still and viewed the room by broad daylight. The furnishings were pretty and comfortable. The color scheme of the room was delft blue. The walls were papered in a white mica-stripe with a plain white ceiling. A wide, ragged border of bachelor’s buttons added vastly to the dainty effect. The two wash-stands, chiffoniers and dressing tables had Japanese covers of white stamped in blue figures. The hard-wood floor was covered by a velvet rug in three shades of blue, and the couch covers were also in indeterminate blues. There were two easy chairs, one willow rocker and two straight cane-seated chairs. A good sized library table occupied the center of the room. It was of black walnut and an antique. At each end of the room was a door opening into a closet, large enough to permit the hanging of wearing apparel without crowding. All the necessary effects having been provided, it remained to the occupants to supply their own individual decorations.

The entrance into the room of Jerry, her round face rosy from her morning scrub, brought Marjorie’s inspection of her new “house” to an end.

“I’ve been looking at our new room ever since I woke up,” saluted Marjorie. “It is pretty, I think. I am not used to blue, though. It matches you better than me, Jerry.”

“Yes, I see it does. It’s large enough for the furniture, without crowding. That’s what I like about it. I believe——”

The silver-tongued chimes cut into Jerry’s speech, ringing out a live little prelude before striking seven. Came the striking of the hour, a slow, measured salute to the sunny autumn morning.

“You may politely say ‘excuse me,’ next time you butt into my conversation.” Jerry nodded an admonishing head in the direction from whence the musical sounds had come. “Funny I didn’t hear those chimes at six o’clock. I was awake.”

“Maybe they don’t play them every hour,” suggested Marjorie. “I remember when we were living in B—— an Episcopal Church near where we lived had a set of chimes installed. They started out by having them played every hour. It annoyed the nearby residents so much that they finally rang them only at six o’clock in the evening and on special occasions. They never bothered General and Captain and me. We were sorry to lose them. It was like meeting some one I hadn’t heard of in a long while to hear those good old bells last night. There are two things I love already about Hamilton. One is the campus; the other is the chimes.”

“I agree with you about the campus. I don’t know yet about the chimes. Familiarity with them may breed anything but admiration.” Jerry was only jesting. Such was her nature that she shied at the proximity of sentiment. She had it in her to be sure, but she kept it hidden far beneath the surface.

“You had better hurry along to your bath,” she now advised. “By half-past seven the lavatory will become suddenly very popular.”

“I’m going this minute.” Marjorie had already donned a negligee and was hastily thrusting her feet into quilted satin slippers.

As she stepped from her room into the hall, a door on the opposite side, above the room occupied by Lucy and Ronny, swung open with a jerk. On the threshold appeared Natalie Weyman. She was evidently in a bad humor, for her heavy brows were sharply drawn in an ugly scowl. Her eyes happening to light on Marjorie, her face grew perceptibly darker. With a smothered exclamation, she disappeared into her room again, banging the door. She had not even attempted a “good morning,” but had stared at Marjorie as though she had never seen her before.

Not in the least impressed, Marjorie continued imperturbably toward the lavatory. She had made two discoveries, however. She knew now who had slammed the door on the previous night. She knew, too, that Natalie Weyman had no real feeling of friendliness toward her. She had heard enough from the three callers of the evening before to arraign them in her mind as leaning very hard toward snobbishness. If they were snobs, she wished to keep far away from them. Further, she had no intention of regarding Miss Weyman’s call as anything but a duty-prompted affair. Not one of the three young women had extended an informal invitation to the Five Travelers to visit them in their rooms. If the select Sans Soucians expected to see herself and chums go out of their way to please, they would be disappointed.