“The ten-thirty rule will have to chase itself merrily around the campus,” Jerry made airy disposition of that time-honored regulation as she entered the room which Marjorie was already beginning to set to rights. With her usual energy the stout girl gathered up the glasses, tucking them one inside another and setting them in a compact row at one end of the study table.

“I agree with you, Jeremiah. I have letters to read that must be read, ten-thirty rule or no.” Marjorie whisked an armful of crumpled paper napkins and empty paper plates into the waste basket. “There;” she cleared the table of crumbs; “that’ll do for tonight. Thank goodness, all the eats were eaten.”

“I can count on my fingers the times we’ve defied old ten-thirty,” Jerry declared as she reached in the table drawer for her two letters.

“Ten times in four years,” Marjorie commented. “That’s a good record.”

“True, Bean, true. When we stop to consider the past—how wonderful we are!” Jerry simpered self-appreciatively at Marjorie as she sat down under the drop light with her letters.

“How can I help but believe it when you say it like that?” rallied Marjorie. “Anyway, you’re a gem, Jeremiah. I was never more agreeably surprised than when you turned the tables on Miss Peyton tonight. I hadn’t noticed that their door stood open. But you had, smart child. I had no idea you’d been out in the hall on a tour of discovery.”

“I went directly after you were out there. I had a hunch that the Ice Queen would start something. So she did—through those two geese. They had that room last year and didn’t appear to mind our occasional soirees. But there’s still another and a chief disturber—Leslie Cairns. She’s back of the Ice Queen.”

“I think so, too,” Marjorie admitted with reluctance. “I have seen them together several times. Leslie Cairns has other friends on the campus, too. Muriel and I saw her and Miss Monroe coming out of Craig Hall this afternoon.”

“You did?” Jerry showed surprise. “I’ll investigate that. I may find out something interesting. Miss Morris, that nice senior you’ve heard me speak of, who came to the campus last fall from Vassar, says there are only seniors and juniors at Craig Hall this year. Perhaps it was the Ice Queen’s friends she and Leslie Cairns were calling upon.”

“That may be,” Marjorie agreed. “I wonder if Miss Monroe likes Leslie Cairns? Perhaps she cares more about cars and expensive clothes and spending money than anything else. We don’t know her, so we can’t even guess what sort of girl she is at heart.”

“I know what will happen to her if she puts any dependence in Leslie Cairns,” Jerry said grimly. “Don’t waste your sympathy on her, Marjorie. She isn’t worthy of it.”

“I don’t know why I feel so sorry about her, but I do,” Marjorie confessed. “Whenever I see that beautiful face of hers I forget she’s been so ungracious to us. She’s not a namby-pamby kind of pretty girl. She has a high, royal kind of beauty. I’ve not given her up yet, Jeremiah. I’m going to try popularity for her against Leslie Cairns’ money. I’m going to put her in the first show we have. I’ll have Robin ask her. I’ll stay in the background for awhile.”

“Nil desperandum,” Jerry encouraged with an indulgent grin. “Mignon La Salle reformed just to please Marvelous Manager. Why not others? Besides there’s always the pleasant possibility that the Hob-goblin and the Ice Queen may squabble and part.”

“So Muriel says. I mean about those two girls disagreeing. You may make fun of me all you please, Jerry. Just the same if we could win Miss Monroe over to our side it would gradually put everything straight here at the Hall. If Miss Monroe became our friend, she would probably become friends with the Bertram five. She’s friends already with the other sophs and freshies here. Things which are equal to the same thing are equal to each other, you know. Leslie Cairns’ friendship cannot be beneficial to her. I am sure of that. Yet to warn her against Miss Cairns would be contemptible. Excuse me, Jeremiah, for keeping you from your letters!” Marjorie exclaimed in sudden contrition. “It’ll be midnight before I’ve read all these.” She flourished the handful of letters before Jerry’s eyes.

“Go to it, or it may be morning. Why waste precious time flaunting your letters in my face? Why should your five to my two make you vainglorious?”

“Who’s vainglorious?” Marjorie made a half threatening move up from her chair. She dropped back again, laughing, as Jerry nimbly put the length of the table between them.

“Lots of people are vainglorious.” Jerry wisely grew vague. “Don’t bother me, Bean. I hope to read my letters in peace and quiet. Yes?”

“So do I,” emphasized Marjorie.

The chums exchanged good-humored smiles, born of perfect understanding and settled down to the patiently deferred reading of their letters.

Jerry read Helen’s letter first. She knew it would be long and absorbing. Hal’s would be his usual brief note. It was his weekly offering. Long since Jerry had made him promise to write once a week and had pledged herself to do the same by him. A strong devotion lived between brother and sister which had deepened year by year. Hal did not pretend to understand Jerry from the standpoint of girlhood. To him she was a good comrade; “the squarest kid going.” Jerry was of the private belief that she knew Hal better than he knew himself.

Her one sorrowful concern in life was the knowledge that Marjorie “couldn’t see old Hal for a minute.” She would have tried to further Hal’s unflourishing cause with Marjorie, but there seemed to be no way of accomplishment. She knew only too well Marjorie’s utter lack of sentimental interest in Hal; her rooted aloofness to “love” as Hal had hoped she might experience it. “A regular stony heart,” Jerry had secretly characterized her.

Jerry had shrewdly divined for herself the true state of affairs between the two. Neither had ever spoken intimately to her of the other. Nevertheless when Marjorie had left Severn Beach for her midsummer journey to Hamilton during the summer previous, Jerry had been convinced that she had “turned Hal down.” She had wondered then, and since, how Marjorie could fail to love her big, handsome brother—not because he had been devoted to her since their first meeting—but for himself.

The expression of good-natured amusement which had visited her face during the reading of Helen’s letter remained until she had read Hal’s note several times. Then concern replaced it, making her round face very solemn. She shot a covert glance at Marjorie who was deep in Mary Raymond’s letter. She had already devoured the contents of her General’s and Captain’s letters. Both had been comparatively short and loving inquiries as to whether they might hope for her “gracious presence at Castle Dean over Thanksgiving.” Neither superior officer had made a point of asking her to come home. Unselfishly, as ever, they deferred to her judgment.

Marjorie had gulped down her rising emotions as she had read and realized afresh her father’s and mother’s breadth of spirit. She had taken up Mary’s letter, feeling that she must go home at all events for the holiday. Mary had the long and astonishing confidence to impart that she had fallen in love, was engaged to be married the following September and that her engagement was soon to be announced at a formal luncheon to be given for her by her mother.

“Oh, Jerry!” Marjorie looked up brightly from her letter. “Mary’s going to be married. I’ll tell you all she writes about the great event while we are getting ready for bed. I haven’t time now.” Her hands were busy opening the letter from Constance as she spoke. Again she dropped into silence and the perusal of Connie’s letter. “Isn’t it too bad?” she soon cried out. “Connie and Laurie are not going to be in Sanford for Thanksgiving. Laurie promised a composer friend of his to be present at the first performance of his new opera ‘The Azure Butterfly.’ He and Connie are going to New York.”

“That settles it for me. There’ll be one distinguished mug missing on the campus. I’m going home for Turkey Day.” Marjorie’s news concerning Constance and Laurie had crystalized Jerry’s wavering resolve to go to Sanford. “Poor old Hal! A fine time he’d have with all of us away!”

A swift flood of crimson deepened the glow in Marjorie’s cheeks; rose even to her white forehead. She stared self-consciously at Jerry for an instant. Without a word she laid down Connie’s letter and took up the envelope addressed to her in Charlie Stevens’ straggling hand.

First exploration of its contents and she broke into a low amused laugh: “Do listen to this, Jerry,” she begged.

Jerry raised her eyes from Hal’s letter, at which she had been soberly staring. She was provoked with herself for having mentioned Hal to Marjorie as an object for sympathy.

Occupied with the letter from Charlie, Marjorie did not notice Jerry’s gloomy features. Mirthfully she read:

“Dear Marjorie:

“I think your last letter to me was a dandy. I read it twice and I was going to read it again only I lost it. Maybe I lost it on the football ground or in the street. But if anyone finds it they’ll see your name on the end of it and guess that I am the right Charlie it belongs to. Then I might get it again. I know you won’t be mad cause I lost it. I couldn’t help it.

“Connie is going to New York with Laurie for Thanksgiving. She has to go because he is her husband. We are very sorry. I don’t mean we are sorry because Laurie is her husband but because they are going away. The band is coming to our house for a party on Thanksgiving evening. I am going to play an awful hard piece on my fiddle that Father Stevens composed just for me. You’d better come home and then you can come to see us that night. I like you, Marjorie, quite a bit better than Mary Raymond. Connie says Mary is going to be married. I used to say when I was real little that I was going to marry her. I don’t say it now. I didn’t know any better then.

“I hope there will be snow and ice on Thanksgiving. Will you go skating on the pond with me if there is? I can skate fine and make a figure eight and a double loop on the ice. Hal Macy took me to the Sanford ice rink last Saturday afternoon. He showed me how to make the figure eight. He is a dandy fellow, only he doesn’t talk much. You ought to see him play basket ball. He has all the Sanford fellows beat. I like him because he always goes around with the fellows and not the girls. He thinks you are quite nice. I let him read your letter before I lost it and he said I was a lucky kid. I could write some more but I can’t think just what to write. I will write some more some other time. You had better come home soon. You and me and Hal Macy will go skating. It is all right for you to go with him. He would just as soon go any place with you because he has been to your house lots of times to parties and you have been to his house and that’s the way it is. I have to go and practice an hour on my fiddle so good-bye Marjorie and I send you my love. Hurry up home.

“Good for that kid!” The cry of approbation came straight from Jerry’s heart. “Old Hal has had a lonesome time in Sanford for the past two years. He could have gone into business for himself in New York after he was graduated from college, but he knew Father needed him in his business.” Jerry checked herself with the reminder that Hal would not wish her to glorify him, especially to Marjorie.

“Hal is splendid.” Marjorie was always first to give Hal his due, impersonally. “I know it has been lonesome for him in Sanford without the old crowd and—and—he must miss you so, Jerry,” she finished rather lamely. She meant it in all earnestness. She understood perfectly the bond between Hal and Jerry.

“Not half so much as I’m sure he misses you.” Jerry grew bold for once. “This is what he has written me. You can see for yourself what a good sport he is.” She did not look at Marjorie as she read:

“Dear Jerry:

“Yours of last week appreciated. You haven’t yet said what you are going to do about Thanksgiving. That I suppose will depend on the way matters stand at Hamilton. If you don’t come home I will keep Father and Mother busy looking after me so they won’t miss you too much. Connie and Laurie will be in New York over Thanksgiving so I must cheer up Charlie by taking him to the football game between the Riverside Giants and the Sanford High team. I have been coaching the Sanford fellows a little. It’s going to be some game. Hope you’ll be on hand to see it.

“Just remind Marjorie that I wrote her last. Tell her she can square herself with me by coming home for Thanksgiving. Connie told me yesterday she had written to Marjorie. Hard lines to have Connie and Laurie away on the grand old day. Better try and see what you can do for me. With love. Good night old kid.

“Why, I don’t owe Hal a letter!” Marjorie regarded Jerry in surprise. “He owes me one.”

“He does?” Jerry showed more surprise than had Marjorie. “Well, I believe both of you. It’s a plain case of ‘all have won.’ Meanwhile where is that latest glowing proof of a flourishing correspondence?”

“Lost in the mail, perhaps,” Marjorie guessed. She became silent for a moment. “I’m doubly sorry about it. I shouldn’t care to have Hal think—” Marjorie paused; looked away from Jerry’s keen blue eyes, so like Hal’s, in confused embarrassment.

“You know what to do.” Jerry kindly ignored the embarrassed slip. “Go present him with your regrets in person. I’ll give a hop, and invite you to it. Won’t that be nice? Old Hal won’t care if you are the only one invited.” She could not refrain from a side-long glance at Marjorie.

“Imagine Hal and me dancing solemnly around your big ball room together, the only guests at your hop.” Marjorie forced a laughing tone of raillery.

“Nothing would please him better,” Jerry stoutly maintained. It was the nearest to an opinion concerning Hal’s and Marjorie’s non-progressive love affair that wary Jerry had ever ventured.