Leslie’s ominous prediction regarding herself was not idle. She awoke the next morning signally out of sorts. Though she had declared to Natalie she did not care to discuss the revue, when she arrived at the Hall she had changed her mind. She had invited Natalie into her room for a “feed.” The two had gorged themselves on French crullers, assorted chocolates and strong tea. Nor did they retire until almost midnight.

Leslie greeted the light of day with a sour taste in her mouth and a desire to snap at her best friend, were that unlucky person to appear on her immediate horizon. She had thought herself fairly well prepared in psychology for the morning recitation. Instead she could not remember definitely enough of what she had studied the afternoon before to make a lucid recitation. This did not tend to render her more amiable. She prided herself particularly on her progress in the study of psychology and was inwardly furious at her failure.

Exiting from Science Hall that afternoon, the first person her eyes came to rest upon was Elizabeth Walbert. She stood at one side of the broad stone flight of steps eagerly watching the main entrance to the building.

“Oh, there you are!” she hailed. “I have been waiting quite a while for you.”

“That’s too bad.” It was impossible to gauge Leslie’s exact humor from the reply. Her answers to impersonal remarks so often verged on insolence.

“So I thought,” pertly retorted the other girl. At the same time she furtively inspected Leslie.

“What is it now? You make me think of that old story of the ‘Flounder’ in ‘Grimms’ Fairy Tales.’ You are like the fisherman’s wife who was always asking favors of the flounder. We will assume that I am the flounder.”

“How do you know that I wish to ask a favor?” Elizabeth colored hotly at the insinuation. She put on an injured expression, her lips slightly pouted.

“I’m a mind reader,” was the laconic reply.

“Hm! Suppose I were to ask you to do something for me? Haven’t you said lots of times that I could rely on you?” persisted Elizabeth. “I don’t understand you, Leslie. You are so sweet to me at times and so horrid at others.”

“You’ll understand me better after today,” came the significant assurance. “Come on. We will walk across the campus to your house.”

“Why not yours?” Elizabeth demanded in patent disappointment. “I see enough of Alston Terrace. I’d rather go with you to Wayland Hall. Your nice room is a fine place for a confidential chat.”

“You won’t see the inside of it this P.M. I am not going into the house when we come to Alston Terrace. I have a severe headache and choose to stay out in the open air. It’s a fair day, and not cold enough to bar a walk on the campus.”

“Very well.” Elizabeth sighed and looked patient. “I hope we don’t meet any of the girls. I have a private matter to discuss with you.”

“Go ahead and discuss it,” imperturbably ordered Leslie.

“Why—you—perhaps, if you have a headache, I had better wait until another time,” deprecated the sophomore. It occurred to her that she ought to pretend solicitude. “I am so sorry,” she hastily condoled.

“Thank you. There is no ‘if’ about my headache. Get that straight. What? It won’t hinder me from listening to you. Let’s hear your remarks now and have them over with.”

“I have seen Dulcie,” began Elizabeth impressively, “and she has told me what happened the other night. Really, Leslie, I was shocked, simply shocked. Yet I couldn’t blame you in the least. The way Dulcie has talked about you on the campus is disgraceful. But I went over all that with you the day I first told you of how treacherous she had been.”

“Quite true. You did, indeed,” Leslie conceded with pleasant irony. “Now proceed. What next?”

“You are so funny, Leslie. You are so deliciously matter-of-fact.” Elizabeth was hoping the compliment would restore the difficult senior to a more equitable frame of mind.

“You may not always appreciate my matter-of-fact manner.” The ghost of a smile, cruel in its vagueness, touched Leslie’s lips.

“Oh, I am sure I shall. To go back to Dulcie, I hope you didn’t mention my name the other night. You promised you wouldn’t.”

“Is that what you have been so anxious to tell me?” Leslie asked the question with exaggerated weariness, eyes turned indifferently away from her companion.

“No; it is not.” Elizabeth shot an exasperated glance at her. “I merely mentioned it. Dulcie tried to make me take the blame for it the first time I met her after the meeting. I simply told her I had nothing to do with it whatever.”

Leslie sniffed audible contempt at this information. “Let me say this: Dulcie herself mentioned your name, or rather she screamed it out at the top of her voice the other night. The rest of us said nothing. I made the charges against Dulcie and mentioned no names.”

“I wish I had been there.” A wolfish light flashed into the wide, babyish blue eyes. “It must have been quite a party. Leslie,” Elizabeth decided that the time had come to speak for herself, “you said once that I couldn’t be a member of the Sans because there was no vacancy; that the club must be kept to the number of eighteen. There is a vacancy now. The club has only seventeen members. Why can’t I fill that vacancy and become the eighteenth member? I don’t mind because it will be only for the rest of this year. I shall count it an honor to have been a Sans even that long. I will certainly make a more loyal Sans than Dulcie was.”

Leslie drew a long breath. The wished-for moment had come. She was in fine fettle to deliver to the ambitious climber the “turn-down” she had earned.

“Why can’t you become a member of the Sans?” she asked, then drew back her head and indulged in soundless laughter. “Do you think it would make you very happy to join us?”

“You may better believe it,” Elizabeth made flippant reply. More seriously, she added: “You know how my heart has been set upon it from the very first.”

“Yes, I know. The fact of the matter is,” Leslie measured each word, “there is one great drawback to your joining.”

“If it is about money, I am sure my father has as much as the fathers of the other members,” cut in Elizabeth. “Our social position in New York is——”

“All that has nothing to do with the drawback I mentioned.” Leslie waved away Elizabeth’s attempt at defending her position. They were not more than half way across the campus, but Leslie was tired of keeping up the suspense of the moment. Her head ached violently. She was so utterly disgusted with the other girl she could have cheerfully pummeled her.

“Then I don’t quite understand——” began Elizabeth.

“You’re going to—at once. We dropped one girl from the Sans for being a liar and a gossip. What would be the use in filling her place with another liar and gossip. That’s the drawback. It applies strictly to you.”

Leslie stopped short in her walk and faced her companion, her heavy features a study in malignant contempt. Elizabeth’s eyes widened involuntarily this time. She could not believe the evidence of her own ears. Her moment of stupefaction gave Leslie the very opportunity to continue and finish her remarks before the other had time for angry defense.

“You would have been nothing socially on the campus if I hadn’t taken you up,” she said forcefully. “The other girls in my club, it is my club, didn’t like you. I had a good many quarrels with a number of them for trying to stand up for you, you worthless little schemer. If you had had one shred of principle or gratitude in your deceitful composition, you would have come to me at once with the first story against the club which Dulc told you. But you did not. You simply gossiped all she said to you to other students on the campus. Dulcie told you things about us that were ridiculous. You not only listened to them. You repeated them, making them worse.

“I had heard of your tactics before I sent for you to ask you about Dulc. I wanted to pump you and hear what you had to offer. I made it my business afterward to look up your record as a tale-bearer. Some little record! I know exactly to whom you have talked and what you have circulated concerning the Sans. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Such ingrates as you have no sense of shame. Now, I believe, you understand why the Sans don’t care to put you in Dulcie’s place. It would merely be a case of out of the frying pan into the fire. Of the two, you are worse than Dulc. She is a liar, but stupid. You are a liar and tricky.”

“Don’t you dare call me a story-teller again,” burst forth Elizabeth in a fury.

“I didn’t say story-teller. I said liar. I never mince matters. I’ve said that to you before.” Leslie stood smiling at the culprit, the soul of mockery.

“You won’t be at Hamilton long enough to insult me ever again, Leslie Cairns,” threatened Elizabeth, a world of vindictiveness in every word. “I don’t believe you, when you say that Dulcie hasn’t told the truth. I guess Dulcie knows enough that is true to make it very uncomfortable for you. I’ll help her do it, too. No one can speak to me as you have and expect I won’t get even.”

“Try it,” challenged Leslie. “Unless you have Dulcie to back you you can’t prove one single thing against our record at Hamilton. Dulcie doesn’t care to make trouble for herself. You couldn’t get her to go with you to headquarters. She has either to be graduated from college with a fair rating or fall into a bushel of trouble with her father. Let me give you and Dulc both a last piece of advice. You’ll tell her all about this, of course, only you will be careful not to mention wanting her place in the club. Keep a brake on those mill-clapper tongues of yours for the rest of the year.”

Without giving Elizabeth time for another outburst of wrath, Leslie wheeled and started away at double quick. The other girl forgot dignity entirely and pursued the senior, talking shrilly as she ran. She might as well have pursued a fleeing shadow. Leslie set her jaw and increased her pace. The enraged sophomore kept up the chase for a matter of yards, then stopped. Placing her hands to her mouth, trumpet fashion, she hurled after Leslie one pithy threat: “You’ll be sorry.”