That particular week seemed the longest to Marjorie she had ever spent. While she could only guess that the damaging letter held by Leslie Cairns was from Rowena Farnham, she was quite positive that there was no one else who would be mean-spirited enough to write it. Her high school record entirely clear, still it would have to be proven. She had been vilified by Rowena, and lies about her published among the students of Hamilton. Unchecked, there was no telling how wide a circulation it might gain.

Jerry, who had been told of the trouble, was ready to descend upon the entire college and vanquish it single-handed. Muriel and Lucy were no less incensed. As for Miss Remson, she was for vindication on Friday night. Being as shrewd as she was good, she merely posted a notice on the house board requesting every student at the Hall to meet her in the living room at eight o’clock on Friday evening. All attempts to find out from her the nature of the meeting were fruitless. She kept her own counsel. The Sans, not wishing to curtail their chances for next year’s accommodations, prudently decided to attend in a body.

“It is better to meet her, girls,” Natalie Weyman urged. “She won’t keep us long. She has some idiotic bee in her bonnet that is aching to buzz. We had best humor her.”

“It isn’t my policy to humor anyone,” objected Leslie Cairns.

“Except Lola Elster,” cut in Natalie with jealous sarcasm.

“That will be about all from you,” retorted Leslie, insolence animating her heavy features.

“Oh, really!” flashed back Natalie, ready for battle. “How long since you acquired any authority over me?”

“Forget it,” advised Joan Myers wearily. “All you two have done this evening is quarrel. I thought we were to meet in Nat’s room for a good time, not a general row.”

“Nat is to blame,” muttered Leslie. “Let her be a little less waspish and I will try to get along with her. This is no time for us to fuss. I have been a good friend to Nat. She forgets that.”

“I don’t,” icily contradicted Natalie. “Only I won’t take dictation from my father and mother, let alone my friends.”

“Drop it, then, and listen to me.” Leslie still continued to dictate, but in a modified tone. This was not lost on Natalie. She bore it, however, in discreet silence. “It is time to start on that Dean girl. I mean, to do some talking. We must catch her out on the campus and rag her a little. Leave it to me. I know how to begin on her. The rest of you, who happen to be along, can join in. Notice what I say and how I say it.”

By the merest chance, Marjorie’s path did not cross that of the Sans during the early part of the week. On Wednesday, after classes, she saw a number of them far down the drive, hurrying toward the Hall. Within a few yards of the steps, she entered the house and was opening the door of her room when she heard their voices in the lower hall. She tried not to think of the blight which hung over her, but she could not throw off a sense of heavy-heartedness such as she had not experienced since the time when Lucy Warner had chosen to disbelieve her word. Of all her chums, Lucy longed most to help her. She was understanding now how much her disbelief had made Marjorie suffer. Nothing could be done until Friday night, and the work of clearance lay in Veronica’s capable hands.

Friday dawned, clear and sunshiny. Marjorie hailed the day with relief. That evening would end her suspense. It was time it ended, she thought. She had received signs of what might lead to partial coventry on the part of a number of upper class students. She mentally set them down as girls whom she would take a just pleasure in avoiding, later on, when the smudge had been erased from her escutcheon.

From Ronny she had learned that Miss Remson expected a full attendance in the living room that evening. The brisk little manager was up in arms at the affair and declared that she would lend every effort to stamp out the rumor. “These young women are becoming insufferable,” she confided to Ronny. “Between you and me, they are not going to room at Wayland Hall next year unless the management should change hands.”

On Friday afternoon Marjorie hurried from the laboratory, where she had been at work during the last recitation period of the afternoon, and set off at a rapid walk across the campus. Her hands were stained from experimentations, and she was anxious to bathe and dress for the evening before dinner. She had thought of wearing a dark green cloth gown, fur-trimmed, as the most inconspicuous dress she owned. She was greatly depressed at the idea of being dragged again into prominence. Nevertheless, no one could have persuaded her not to go on and thresh the matter out with those who had sought to injure her.

Influenced by her thoughts, her face showed a sternness which seldom visited it. A fairly strong east wind which had risen and blew against her caused her to bow her head to it a trifle. Enwrapped in her somber reflections, she was over half way to the Hall when the sound of voices smote her ears. Looking up quickly, she saw a bevy of girls coming toward her. She recognized them as Sans. More, that she was their objective. She could not avoid them, nor did she wish to do so. She simply kept on walking until within a few feet of them.

“Steady there, Joan!” suddenly drawled a voice Marjorie knew and disliked. “Be careful. Don’t walk over the college beauty. Why, good afternoon, Miss Bean! Oh, I beg your pardon; Dean, I believe is correct. A fine day, isn’t it? I imagine it is much colder in Sanford. A fine little town, I hear. It has such a splendid high school. One has to have a high standard of honor to be admitted to it. If one cheats in examinations or does anything dishonest one is expelled from school. Just like that!” Leslie struck her hands smartly together. “One really should be very careful. Even if one has been expelled and then happened to get back into this wonderful high school, through influence, the story of one’s dishonesty is likely to travel into college.”

“Yes, I have heard that, too,” chimed in Natalie Weyman. “We should be delighted to hear your opinion, Miss Dean. Don’t be in a hurry. We have been told that you can make the prettiest little speeches. Make a speech now.”

“Speech! Speech!” chorused the others, simulating avid enthusiasm. Very innocently they drew nearer, as though partially to hem her in.

“Oh, she doesn’t care to make a speech now, girls,” sneered Dulcie Vale. “Too bad! We really ought to take her down to the Colonial and blow her off to one of our real dinners. I doubt if you could get one like these specials to the San Soucians in Sanford. We haven’t yet had the honor of escorting the college beauty about the campus.”

“She has so many studies,” sighed Leslie Cairns, “and with committee meetings and team work, too, her valuable time is just simply all taken up! What I would advise, Miss Bean; no, Dean, is a little less interest in——”

Up to this point Marjorie had listened with calm serenity to the Sans’ attempts to follow out an old English school custom of “ragging.” The instant she noted the change from sarcasm to belligerence in Leslie Cairns’ tones, she became ready to speak and act.

“How utterly silly you all are,” she said with the utmost composure. “You have no wish to know me. I have no wish to know you. As for the things you are attempting to insinuate against me, what possible harm in the end can such untruths do? Good afternoon.”

Her steady brown eyes turned searchingly on her tormentors for an instant, Marjorie made a detour, passed the momentarily speechless group and continued steadily across the campus.

“What?” Leslie Cairns uttered her usual expression blankly. “What?” she said again. This time with growing displeasure.

“Well, I never!” exclaimed Natalie Weyman’s high cold voice. “Of all the insolence! One might think we were peasants and she a princess!”

“Why didn’t somebody say something before she got away?” demanded Joan Myers wrathfully. “I was speechless when she said that about our being silly. She might as well have called us all liars.”

“Are you sure your friend Rowena is right about that high school trouble, Les?” Natalie anxiously inquired.

“Yes, she is,” Leslie snapped, irritated out of her customary drawl. “She saw the whole thing. Then this Dean girl tried to lay it to her. Her father was so enraged over it that he took Rowena out of high school and sent her to Miss Alpine’s School for Girls. That is an expensive school, too. The Farnhams have millions. You ought to see their place at Tanglewood! An English duke built the house and then went broke. It’s a humming little palace, I will say. Cost a million at least.”

“Is that so?” returned several impressed satellites, who, while eligible to the Sans, could not boast of million dollar summer homes, built by English dukes.

“Why don’t you invite your friend Rowena down here for a day or so, Les?” asked Dulcie Vale. “It would be good sport to see her and that little Dean prig meet. I am so furious to think we let her stand there and have her say without simply extinguishing her before she had said three words.”

“Oh, yes; this is a nice time to tell it,” grumbled Leslie. “Why didn’t you do it while you had the opportunity?”

“Why didn’t you?” pertly queried Lita Stone. “You had the same opportunity.”

“What?” Leslie cast a withering look at Lita, then deliberately turned her back on the questioner and began talking to Natalie in an undertone. She had not given up her intention to continue to rag Marjorie. Next time, she planned, she would dispense with the company of all but Natalie and Dulcie. The three of them would not bungle matters.

As for Marjorie, the reaction had set in. Divided between anger and the nervous shock attending the sudden attack, she trembled a little as she continued her way to the Hall. She was glad that she was to be cleared of the shadow that night. If Ronny had not insisted on taking up the cudgels for her, she would have braved Leslie Cairns in the latter’s room and fought her own fight for honor.

Not knowing that Natalie Weyman was jealous of her, Marjorie resolved to look her prettiest, with a view toward exasperating the vain sophomore. In her wardrobe hung a frock she had not yet worn at Hamilton. It was a one-piece frock of fine wisteria-colored broadcloth which her captain had designed and made. It had a wide bertha, cuffs and over panels of wisteria panne velvet. The velvet was further beautified by a two inch appliquÉ of silk violets on an old gold background. It was the most becoming of her afternoon gowns, and stunning enough to make the Sans wonder if it were imported.

She reached her room to find Jerry out. She sat down limply in one of the easy chairs. After ten minutes of absolute quiet, she felt better and rose to prepare for the evening in her usual methodical manner. An hour later Jerry entered to find Marjorie, looking exceptionally charming, seated at the table, deep in her trigonometry theorems for next day’s class.

“You look perfectly sweet, Marjorie,” was Jerry’s honest praise. “I’m glad you chose that dress. I was afraid you wouldn’t dress up much. I am going to wear that dark blue velvet gown you like so well. It’s my best outside my evening dresses. Ronny is going to wear her black taffeta. You know how stunning she is in black. I haven’t seen Muriel today, and I don’t know what Lucy will wear. I know that frozen expression of hers will be there. If it doesn’t scare the Sans it ought to. I must hustle along to get togged out before dinner.”

It took Jerry until the last minute before the bell rang to dress for the momentous evening. She and Marjorie went down to dinner without the latter having told her of the afternoon’s disagreeable occurrence. When the Five Travelers sat down at their table there was a peculiar gleam of satisfaction in Ronny’s eyes. She had the air of one who had accomplished something which greatly pleased her.

“I had a little trouble with the Sans this afternoon,” Marjorie quietly informed her chums as they began their dessert. She had waited until this moment rather than distract their attention from the substantial part of the dinner. “I wish you would come to Jerry’s and my room after we leave the dining room. You ought to know of it before we meet the rest of the students in the living room. I hope those Sans will all be there.” Into her eyes leaped stern resentment of the afternoon’s insults.

“Miss Remson thinks they will all be on hand,” Muriel replied. “Oh, won’t I enjoy watching their faces when they hear why she called them together!”

“They may turn on you Ronny, and me, too,” warned Marjorie. “If they do, don’t give way a particle to them.”

Ronny smiled on Marjorie in the rare wonderful fashion she so loved. “You don’t know what a good fighter I am,” she returned. “Wait until you see my defenses.”

There was no sign of a smile on Ronny’s face when she listened with the others to Marjorie’s recital of the Sans ill-bred act of the afternoon. Her face registered an austerity which gave her the expression of an offended deity. Jerry and Muriel sputtered angrily over it and Lucy’s green eyes gleamed threateningly enough to promise any of the offenders, who chanced to meet their concentrated stare, an uncomfortable moment.

“It is five minutes to eight.” Jerry pointed to the clock. “Let’s go down. On where victory points the way!” she declaimed humorously.

“And it will be victory,” said Veronica, with a sureness of tone that was vastly comforting to Marjorie.

She walked down the stairs and into the living room with Veronica. Lucy, Muriel, Katherine Langly and Jerry were directly in their wake. Chairs from the dining room had been brought into the living room and placed in regular rows facing the west wall. These chairs were already occupied by the house students. Of the thirty-six girls who lived at Wayland Hall, the Lookouts and Katherine were the last to enter. At the west end of the room were three chairs. Miss Remson occupied one. She was talking busily to a dark-haired, fine-featured woman who sat in the chair next to her own. The third chair was still vacant. Five of the six girls seated themselves on a large oak bench at the back of the room, which was still vacant on their arrival. Ronny walked serenely up the improvised side aisle to where Miss Remson and her guest were seated. Very demurely she slipped into the vacant chair.

A united gasp arose from four of the occupants of the oak bench as their eyes lighted upon Miss Remson’s guest. A great wave of unexpected joy swept over Marjorie. She realized how much the presence of that beloved guest meant to her. She felt Lucy’s hand slip into hers. The two girls clasped hands in an expression of silent thankfulness and rejoicing.

Conversation died out as Miss Remson rose to address the assemblage. Aside from Vera, Leila, Katherine and the Lookouts, no one present had an inkling of Miss Remson’s purpose in calling them together.

“I wish to introduce to you Miss Archer, principal of the Sanford High School for Girls, of Sanford, New York. She has come to Hamilton College to right a wrong that has been done a student here, a most estimable young woman who lives among you at Wayland Hall. Had Miss Archer been unable to leave her work to come here, I should have seen justice done. However, as the case in hand comes so entirely under her jurisdiction, I am very glad of her presence tonight in that respect as well as the pleasure to be derived from her society.”

Miss Remson resumed her chair and Miss Archer rose, a gracious, dignified figure in a dark brown broadcloth traveling gown. Speech for the time being was impossible. The students in the room, with the exception of the Sans, were applauding vigorously. The nature of Miss Archer’s errand alone had aroused their finer sentiments. As for the Sans, they were in a quandary. The words “Sanford High School” and “right a wrong” pointed to trouble for some of them, at least. Natalie Weyman half rose from her chair. A sharp tug at her gown from Leslie Cairns and she resumed her seat. Common sense had warned Leslie that it was too late to run. The Sans were fairly caught.

“Sit still,” she whispered. “Remson won’t stand for our leaving. We must brazen this out. Pass the word along.”

“I am going to tell the young women of Wayland Hall a little story,” Miss Archer began in her direct fashion, when quiet was once more restored. “This story is about two girls. One of these two girls was entering her junior year at Sanford High School. The other girl wished to enter the sophomore class. The time of this occurrence which I shall relate was on the first day of high school. The girl who wished to enter the sophomore class reported to my office in order to take the entrance examinations. I chanced to be without a secretary at the time and was not in my office when the prospective sophomore entered it. While she waited for me she amused herself by going over the private papers on my desk. Among them was a set of examination papers marked ‘Sophomore’ which she would be obliged to take. She was interested in these and did not scruple to go over them.

“While she was engaged in this dishonesty, another girl entered the office. She was the bearer of a note to me from her mother. Seeing the stranger at the desk she naturally surmised her to be my new secretary, my former secretary having left me the previous June when she was graduated from high school. The young woman with the note asked the other frankly if she were not the secretary. She did not answer the question with a direct ‘yes’; she merely smiled and made it appear that she was. She continued to stand at the desk as though she had permission to be there.

“Presently she engaged the junior, who was waiting for me, in conversation about an algebra problem on one of the papers. She pretended that she was interested in the problems as review work. This was nothing strange, as my secretary always takes charge of the special examination papers. The junior had long since finished algebra and was not thinking much about the other’s apparent interest in a certain problem in quadratic equations which she pointed out on one of the papers.

“To make a long story short the one girl tricked the junior into showing her how to solve the problem. The junior, believing the other to be simply amusing herself by solving a few of the printed problems during my absence, worked out the one for her which she could not solve. During this time several girls entered the office. In each case they were interviewed and sent about their business by my supposed secretary. Rather to the surprise of the junior the other girl finally picked up the papers containing the finished problem and walked out of the office with them. Still the junior did not suspect her of trickery. She continued to wait for me. I did not return to the office for some time after that and she left without seeing me.”

Miss Archer went on to tell of the trouble which had ensued as a result of the junior having learned that the girl she had talked with was not the secretary. Also of her own misjudgment of the innocent junior. She told of the anonymous report of the affair sent her in a letter which had been written by one of the students who had seen the two at work over the problem and misjudged the junior as being a willing party to the other’s dishonesty.

Her denunciation of Rowena Farnham, for at the last she named her and Marjorie as the principals in the affair, was sharp and merciless. Her openly expressed contempt for the malicious attempt on Rowena’s part to blacken Marjorie’s fair name at Hamilton cut deeply into the courage of the Sans. Under the weight of evidence presented they dared not say a word. Her final remark: “My deep regard for Miss Dean as a former pupil and personal friend has made it a pleasure for me to come to Hamilton to defend her integrity,” was received with acclamation on the part of Marjorie’s loyal supporters.

When Ronny could make herself heard she rose and said: “I wish it understood by all present that I am the person responsible for Miss Archer’s presence here tonight. No one except Miss Remson and Miss Warner knew that I had sent for her. I would like also to say that my name is Lynne, not Lind, and that I am not Swedish, but English. Any reports concerning me I should prefer to have authentic. That’s all.” Ronny left her station and sought the oak bench where Marjorie sat quietly crying, her head against Jerry’s plump shoulder.

Following Ronny’s example more than half of the assemblage left their seats and made for Marjorie. Under their warm expressions of sympathy and loyalty, her tears soon disappeared. The lesser portion of the students made their exit the moment they conveniently could, hoping not to attract too much attention. Going directly to their rooms, they came forth again in hats and coats, leaving the Hall by twos and threes. An indignation meeting at the Colonial was their objective. For once Leslie Cairns was out of favor all around for having accepted the word of her friend, Rowena Farnham, against Marjorie, without having been sure of her ground.

While the Sans were engaged in one of their futile altercations Miss Remson, assisted by the two maids, was engaged in passing around strawberry ice cream and thick-layered chocolate cake to Marjorie and her supporters.

“We have won our second victory for democracy!” exclaimed Leila triumphantly from her place on the oak bench beside Marjorie. She had made Jerry give it to her. Miss Archer sat at her beloved pupil’s other side.

“I can’t be sorry it happened now,” Marjorie said happily. “It brought me my Miss Archer. Besides it is a real victory. We have shown those trouble makers, thanks to Ronny, first of all, that we are not going to be talked about at their pleasure.”

“They certainly slid out of here in a hurry,” commented Jerry. “They didn’t dare stay.”

“They did not,” agreed Leila. “They will not be bothering us for some time to come. They will have to hunt well for trouble. Now, with spring here, they will be motoring and forgetting us for awhile. Do not believe they are done forever. Leslie Cairns will try again if she sees her chance. We may not see much of them the rest of this year, but look out for them as juniors. The poor, simple earth will not hold them.”

“Really, I don’t know where the year has gone,” sighed Muriel Harding. “We are almost into the spring term and it seems to me that I haven’t been here but a few weeks. We were going to try to find out a lot about the founder of this college, Brooke Hamilton. Have any of you ever looked up his history outside of what it says of him in the college bulletin?”

“I tried to find more about him at the library, but the librarian said there wasn’t a single thing about him there that was of any importance. He didn’t appear in books, I suppose, because he was a private gentleman. I would love to go to Hamilton Arms some time. His private library is there, they say, just as it was in his time. If we were allowed to look through it, we might find out a little about him from his collection of books. His tastes and so on, I mean.” Marjorie spoke with the eagerness she always betrayed when on the subject of Brooke Hamilton. Never in a student had the departed philanthropist possessed a more generous admirer.

“If that is your heart’s desire, I will be the one to tell you it is not easily obtained. A niece of his, a very old lady, lives there. She will see no one. She is not in sympathy with the college. They say she has no liking for girls,” was Leila’s dampening information.

“Then there is no use in sighing for the unattainable,” smiled Marjorie. “Oh, well, I can keep on admiring his traditions, anyway, and help, as much as I can, to keep them green at Hamilton.”

When the little feast of rejoicing was over and the Loyalites, as Leila named the participants, had sought their rooms, Marjorie’s earnest words, “and help, as much as I can, to keep them green at Hamilton,” rang in their ears. Each vowed in her heart to do likewise.

How Marjorie left her freshman estate behind, and traveled on into the broader realm of the sophomore, will be narrated in “Marjorie Dean, College Sophomore.”