Doris Monroe glanced in contemptuous fashion at the roadster when, a moment or two later, it sped past her on the highway. Far from being appreciative of the helpful spirit which had lived in spite of the rebuff she had given the Travelers, she felt instead that she had an actual grievance against them. She had chosen to take offense at the time of the evening and the informality which had attended their call on her. For this she had labeled them as ill-bred; gauche; stupid. She had seen plenty of American girls in England and on the Continent. She thought she detested them. In reality she did not. Her trouble began with herself. She had always been so completely wrapped up in herself that she now had no interest in any other girl of her own age. Secure in her unusual beauty she lived only to please Doris Monroe. Marjorie’s whimsy concerning Doris as an enchanted princess under the spell of a wicked wizard was nearer truth than fancy. Self was a powerful wizard likely to keep the spoiled girl in bondage indefinitely.

Her mother had died when she was five years old. Her father, an American, of English descent, had won considerable prestige as an explorer. London or Paris was home to him, however, when he returned to civilization from his long expeditions into the Tropics. When at home he had paid a fair amount of attention to the bringing up and educating of his daughter. When on a trip he had left her in the care of a governess or at a private school for girls. She had had a succession of governesses. She had attended both English and French Schools. Of college, particularly college in the United States, she knew nothing. The fact that her father had suddenly decided to ship her to Hamilton College before going on the Amazon expedition was still a sore matter with her.

She had arrived on the campus in much the same spirit as a stirred-up porcupine, ready to launch a shower of quills at the first person who chanced to offend her. She was bitterly angry with her father for sending her to college and she transferred that anger to Hamilton as soon as she arrived at Wayland Hall. She despised her room, the campus, Miss Remson—most of all she detested the five P. G.’s who were altogether too ready to become friendly.

Doris was not looking forward to the opening of the college as a relief for loneliness. All her short life she had been so well satisfied with herself for company that she had rarely made acquaintance with other girls. Of the joys of having a chum she knew nothing. While she considered the campus “a ghastly dull spot” she had no happy anticipations of the “mobs” of girls which she dreaded to see invade it.

She was thinking of this not far distant calamity, which she could not avoid, as she walked sulkily along the highway wondering what to do that afternoon by way of amusement. Those stupid girls had acted as though she were a beggar to whom they were trying to be kind. Her red lips curved scornfully at thought of their stupidity. She decided she would take a taxicab into the town of Hamilton. She hoped she would meet “the cheeky things” on the way. It would prove to them that she could go driving if she chose. What to do in Hamilton she did not know. Go to a tea shop for an ice, perhaps.

She presently hailed a taxicab returning from a trip on the campus, an only, but lovely occupant. Half way to town she passed a white roadster, which, though conspicuous, compelled her admiration. It was driven by Leslie Cairns, to whom Doris paid not the slightest attention. Leslie, on the contrary, stared hard at Doris. During the week she had now been in Hamilton she had seen Doris twice; once at the Lotus; once near the campus.

The defeat of her unscrupulous plan to prevent Marjorie Dean and Robin Page from obtaining the site they desired for the dormitory they purposed to build had not discouraged Leslie Cairns. She owned property next to the dormitory site presented by Miss Hamilton she had reflected, with her strange hobgoblin smile. Through Lola Ester, who had been graduated in the same class with Marjorie, she had learned that Marjorie and Robin were to return to Hamilton during the summer in the interest of the proposed dormitory. Leslie had decided immediately that she, also, would return, and had laid plans accordingly.

In itself the idea of building a garage on her land after it had been cleared of the row of old houses had not specially interested Leslie. She had used the garage prospect merely as an excuse for buying the property away from the girls she disliked. Now she had a fresh incentive to proceed with it. It would give her untold opportunity to keep in touch with the undertaking of which Marjorie Dean was the strongest power. Further, she would hear the news of the college; possibly meet a few students who might amuse her.

If Leslie Cairns had been graduated from Hamilton College, instead of having been expelled from it she would have probably lost all interest in it. Her contrary disposition caused her to value, too late, that which she had irretrievably lost by her own unworthiness. Not for worlds would she have confessed that she cared a button about the forfeited diploma. Nevertheless, she cared. The diploma would have meant her father’s proud favor. It was galling to her to know that she had been the one to close the gates of Hamilton College against herself. That particular bitter reflection boosted her interest in Hamilton as nothing else could have done. It also strengthened an ignoble desire toward any malicious mischief which her willing hand might find to do.

The day before leaving Newport she had bought the smart white roadster which she was now driving and had ordered it to be driven to the town of Hamilton. It had not arrived until a week later and she had been obliged either to hire a car temporarily or walk. She had been driving the hired car on the Sunday evening when she had passed Vera’s roadster on Hamilton Highway.

Sight of Leslie Cairns’ uncomely face, suddenly appearing out of the darkness, had surprised, but not dismayed, Marjorie. Leila had been concerned by it to the extent of exclaiming sarcastically: “Now why was I not at the station to meet her?” None of the other three girls had glimpsed her in that instant of betraying light. It was not until the quintette were crossing the campus to the Hall from the garage that Leila told them the news. Girl-like they had exclaimed over it. With the exception of Leila they had spoken of Leslie Cairns far more kindly than she deserved. Leila was, what she liked to call herself, “a good Irish hater.” She and Leslie had entered Hamilton College in the same autumn. She had often said candidly to Marjorie and her chums that she detested Leslie more thoroughly than any other girl she had ever known.

Leila had joined the fight for democracy at Hamilton, which Marjorie and her Sanford friends had made during their freshman year, chiefly because she enjoyed thwarting Leslie Cairns and the other San Soucians. Later, when she had come to know and understand Marjorie’s fine nature, her own really great soul responded to it. She had fought then for democracy because she loved Marjorie and believed in fair play. She continued, however, to hold and be proud of her animosity toward Leslie Cairns.

The old saying: “There’s many a true word spoken in jest” seemed on the way to be proven so far as Doris Monroe and Leslie Cairns were concerned. Leila’s satirical opinion of the “fine time” the two might spend together because of their common lack of courtesy was on the way to come to pass. Leslie had decided in the moment when her car passed the taxicab holding Doris that she wished to meet “Blondie,” as she mentally named the other girl.

Leslie’s wish became her law whenever she could encompass it. She turned the white roadster about as soon as she could and sent it speeding in the direction taken by the station taxicab. She caught sight of the dark blue taxi as she whizzed around a curve with reckless speed. That the road chanced to be clear was her good fortune. She smiled to herself, muttering: “No more of that kind of business. I’ll be apt to let myself in for trouble. But I had to pick up that taxi.”

With the blue taxicab now in sight and her car close behind it Leslie began to speculate on Doris’ destination. “I’ll say she’s bound for eats; either at the Lotus, or the Ivy.”

“The Ivy it is?” she surmised triumphantly as the taxicab continued on down Herndon Avenue and up Linden Avenue. “I’ll watch her into the Ivy; then I think I’ll stroll in there, too. My guess—she’s on the campus, stuffing for her entrance exams. She’s certainly not visiting Remson or any other of the campus aggregation of frumps. I think it’s my duty to get acquainted with Blondie.”