Although the girls belonging to Julia's party were silent concerning what happened at the Omnibus House, the story leaked out, creating considerable discussion among the members of the two upper classes. Julia Crosby had a shrewd suspicion that Edna Wright had been the original purveyor of the news, and in this she was right. Edna had, under pledge of secrecy, told it to a sophomore, who immediately told it to her dearest friend, and so the tale traveled until it reached Eleanor, with numerous additions, far from pleasing to her. She was thoroughly angry, and at once laid the matter at Grace's door, while her animosity toward Grace grew daily.

But Grace was not the only person that Eleanor disliked. From the day that Miss Thompson had taken her to task for absence, she had entertained a supreme contempt for the principal of which Miss Thompson was wholly unaware until, encountering Eleanor one morning in the corridor, the latter had stared at her with an expression of such open scorn and dislike that Miss Thompson felt her color rise. A direct slap in the face could scarcely have conveyed greater insult than did that one insolent glance. The principal was at a loss as to its import. She wisely decided to ignore it, but stored it up in her memory for future reference.

The sorority that Eleanor had mentioned in her letter to the Phi Sigma Tau, was now in full flower. The seven girls who had accompanied her to the Omnibus House were the chosen members. They wore pins in the shape of skulls and cross bones, and went about making mysterious signs to each other whenever they met. The very name of the society was shrouded in mystery, though Nora O'Malley was heard to declare that she had no doubt it was a branch of the "Black Hand."

Eleanor was the acknowledged leader, but Edna Wright became a close second, and between them they managed to disseminate a spirit of mischief throughout the school that the teachers found hard to combat.

Grace Harlowe watched the trend that affairs were taking with considerable anxiety. Like herself, there were plenty of girls in school to whom mischief did not appeal, but Eleanor's beauty, wealth and fascinating personality were found to dazzle some of the girls, who would follow her about like sheep, and it was over these girls that Grace felt worried. If Eleanor were to organize and carry out any malicious piece of mischief and they were implicated, they would all have to suffer for what she would be directly responsible. Grace's heart was with her class. She wished it to be a class among classes, and felt an almost motherly anxiety for its success.

"What does ail some of our class?" she exclaimed to Anne and Nora one day as they left the school building. "They seem possessed with imps. The Phi Sigma Tau girls and a few of the grinds are really the only ones who behave lately."

"It's largely due to Eleanor, I think," replied Anne. "She seems to have become quite a power among some of the girls in the class. She is helping to destroy that spirit of earnestness that you have tried so hard to cultivate. I think it's a shame, too. The upper class girls ought to set the example for the two lower classes."

"That's just what worries me," said Grace earnestly. "Hardly a recitation passes in my class without some kind of disturbance, and it is always traced to one of the girls in that crowd. The juniors will get the reputation among the teachers this year that the junior class had last, and it seems such a pity. I overheard Miss Chester tell Miss Kane the other day that her junior classes were the most trying of the day, because she had to work harder to maintain discipline than to teach her subject."

"That's a nice reputation to carry around, isn't it!" remarked Nora indignantly. "But all we can do is to try harder than ever to make things go smoothly. I don't believe their society will last long, at any rate. Those girls are sure to quarrel among themselves, and that will end the whole thing. Or they may go too far and have Miss Thompson to reckon with, and that would probably cool their ardor."

"O girls!" exclaimed Grace. "Speaking of Miss Thompson, reminds me that I have something to tell you. What do you suppose the latest is?"

"If you know anything new, it is your duty to tell us at once, without making us beg for it," said Nora reprovingly.

"All right; I accept the reproof," said Grace. "Now for my news. There is talk of giving a Shakespearian play, with Miss Tebbs to engineer it, and the cast to be chosen from the three lower classes. The seniors, of course, will give their own play later."

"How did you find out?" asked Anne.

"Miss Thompson herself told me about it," replied Grace. "She called on mother yesterday afternoon, and, for a wonder, I was at home. She said that it was not positively decided yet, but if the girls did well with the mid-year tests, then directly after there would be a try out for parts, and rehearsals would begin without delay."

"How splendid!" exclaimed Anne, clasping her hands. "How I would love to take part in it!"

"You will, without doubt, if there is a try out," replied Grace. "There is no one in school who can recite as you do; besides, you have been on the stage."

"I shall try awfully hard for a part, even if it is only two lines," said Anne earnestly. "I wonder what play is to be chosen, and if it is to be given for the school only?"

"The play hasn't been decided upon yet," replied Grace, "but the object of it is to get some money for new books for the school library. The plan is to charge fifty cents a piece for the tickets and to give each girl a certain number of them to sell. However, I'm not going to bother much about the play now, for the senior team has just sent me a challenge to play them Saturday, December 12th. So I'll have to get the team together and go to work."

"We're awfully late this year about starting. Don't you think so?" asked Nora.

"Yes," admitted Grace. "I am just as enthusiastic over basketball as ever, only I haven't had the time to devote to it that I did last year."

"Never mind, you'll make up for lost time after Thanksgiving," said Anne soothingly. "As for me, I'm going to dream about the play."

"Anne, I believe you have more love for the stage than you will admit," said Grace, laughing. "You are all taken up with the idea of this play."

"If one could live in the same atmosphere as that of home, then there could be no profession more delightful than that of the actor," replied Anne thoughtfully. "It is wonderful to feel that one is able to forget one's self and become some one else. But it is more wonderful to make one's audience feel it, too. To have them forget that one is anything except the living, breathing person whose character one is trying to portray. I suppose it's the sense of power that one has over people's emotions that makes acting so fascinating. It is the other side that I hate," she added, with a slight shudder.

"I suppose theatrical people do undergo many hardships," said Grace, who, now that the subject had been opened, wanted to hear more of Anne's views of the stage.

"Unless any girl has remarkable talent, I should advise her to keep off the stage," said Anne decidedly. "Of course when a girl comes of a theatrical family for generations, like Maud Adams or Ethel Barrymore, then that is different. She is practically born, bred and brought up in the theatre. She is as carefully guarded as though she lived in a little village, simply because she knows from babyhood all the unpleasant features of the profession and how to avoid them. There is some chance of her becoming great, too. Of course real stars do appear once in a while, who are too talented to be kept down. However, the really great ones are few and far between. When I compare my life before I came here with the good times I have had since I met you girls, I hate the very idea of the stage.

"Only," she concluded with a shame-faced air, "there are times when the desire to act is irresistible, and it did make my heart beat a little bit faster when I heard about the play."

"You dear little mouse," said Grace, putting her arm around Anne. "I was only jesting when I spoke about your love for the stage. I think I understand how you feel, and I hope you get the best part in the play. I know you'll make good."

"She certainly will," said Nora. "But, to give the play a rest and come down to everyday affairs, where shall we meet to go to the football game?"

"Let me see," said Grace. "The game is to be called at three o'clock. I suppose we shall all be through dinner by half past two. You had better bring your girls to my house. Each of you is to have two and Jessica has one besides Mabel. I am to have three; I found another yesterday. David promised to get me the tickets. I wonder how he and Hippy will enjoy chaperoning thirteen girls?"

"I won't have the slightest chance to talk to Hippy," grumbled Nora, "and he has neglected us shamefully of late, too."

"Never mind, you can have him all to yourself at my party," consoled Grace. "By the way, girls, do you think it would be of any use to invite Eleanor?"

"Eleanor?" exclaimed Nora. "After what she has said to you! You might as well throw your invitation into the fire, for it's safe to say that she will do so when she receives it."

Nevertheless, Grace wrote a cordial little note to Eleanor that evening, and two days later she received Eleanor's reply through the mail. On opening the envelope the pieces of her own note fell out, with a half sheet of paper containing the words, "Declined with thanks."