It so happened that the presence of the two strange girls had aroused the curiosity of someone else, and that this somebody being of a suspicious nature at all times required but little to set her fancies a-galloping. She had watched the girls all through the game, and at its end sped away to the dressing room and changed her clothes with remarkable expedition. Then, instead of joining her companions in Miss Woodhull’s reception room, where tea was to be served to pupils and guests, she hurried into her outdoor garments, and slipped out of a side door, made her way around the house to a clump of fir trees in which she could watch undetected all who left the main entrance of Leslie Manor.

She did not have to wait long. The two girls were among the first to leave, but instead of following the broad main walk as the other guests did, they turned into a side path as though wishing to stroll about the grounds. The moment they were out of sight the suspicious one was hot-foot upon their trail, and Miss Eleanor Allen was compelled to do some lively stepping out in order to overtake her quarry. Only they were certainly most athletic young women if one might judge from the manner in which they strode forward.

Naturally at that season of the year the outskirts of the grounds were entirely deserted. The elegantly dressed young ladies hurried toward a dense clump of cedars which grew near the prickly holly hedge, and, to Eleanor’s amazement, the wearer of the big chiffon veil began to tug and haul at it until it came loose, while the taller girl began to divest herself of her handsome fur collar and coat. Eleanor gasped, and the next moment nearly passed away, for now Miss “Chiffon-Veil’s” skirts fell from her, and Miss “Tall-Blonde” began to wriggle out of her garments as a boy might wriggle out of his coat and vest.... It was all Eleanor could do to repress a cry of horror. Then off fell the big hat, the hair coming with it, and before her stood a tall, fair boy in his trousers and shirt.

“Gee Whiz! Ath, pitch me my coat quick! Those girl’s togs nearly smothered me and now I’m freezing,” he cried.

The garments desired were picked out of a bundle of things hidden in the cedars, and flung at the shivering blonde, who promptly scrambled into it, and drew from one of the pockets a cap, which he jammed down upon his curly pate. Then swooping down he caught up the feminine gear lying upon the ground, jammed it pell mell into a laundry bag, and heaved it over the hedge into the road beyond, his companion, now having cast his outer raiment, doing precisely the same thing. Then both shinned up a tall tree whose branches overhung the road, walked like rope-walkers along a branch which topped the hedge, and dropped lightly to the ground. Eleanor ran to the hedge in time to see the laundry bags pitched upon the backs of two waiting horses, the boys scramble upon their mounts and with a whoop of triumph go pelting off down the road.

“Well, I never! Well, I never!” gasped Miss Paulina Pry, which was unquestionably the absolute truth, though not characteristic. “That was Beverly Ashby’s brother and her beau!” Eleanor’s selection of common nouns was at times decidedly common. “Now, Miss High-and-Mighty, we will see what happens to girls who are so very superior to other girls but can read their letters and sneak boys into our school against rules,” and back she sped to the house, filled to the brim with knowledge, but with such a paucity of wisdom in her brain that it was a wonder she kept to the path. It was a pity that no one was at hand to quote for her benefit: “Knowledge is haughty that she knows so much, but Wisdom is humble that she knows no more.”

From the moment Eleanor Allen entered Leslie Manor, she had been Petty Gaylord’s slave, and a more complete “crush” never was known. Flowers, candy, books, and what not were lavished upon her adored one. Everything that Petty would accept, and since Petty’s discrimination was not of the nicest order all proved fish which fell into her net. Eleanor lived in the atmosphere of Petty’s thrilling romance until she almost felt it to be her own. She had seen the lost letter flutter to the schoolroom floor, and had also seen Beverly pick it up. Her first impulse was to run and tell Petty, but had no opportunity to do so in the classroom. Then she decided to effect its rescue herself, and while the others were at luncheon had slipped into Beverly’s room and extracted the note from her history. She never dreamed that Beverly meant to return it to Petty and did not know that she had gone to her the following morning to explain its loss as well as she was able. Eleanor intended to give Petty the note at once, but when circumstances had prevented her from doing so for several hours, she made up her mind to keep it in her own possession in order to use it to Beverly’s undoing. Just how this was to be compassed she had no very clear idea, and now had come a fine opening. She hated Beverly because she had laughed at Petty’s love affair, and ignored completely the one who worshipped at Petty’s shrine. The scene in Professor Sautelle’s room had nearly thrown Beverly into hysterics, and Eleanor had also witnessed that. Oh, she had a long score against Beverly Ashby.

That evening as Miss Woodhull sat by her study table reading a tap came upon her door and Eleanor entered at the word “Come.”

Miss Woodhull was not over-pleased at being interrupted in the midst of a thrilling article on the Suffrage question and the militant doings of her wronged sisters in England. “Well?” she queried crisply.

“I would like to speak to you, Miss Woodhull.”

“Very well, speak,” was the terse reply.

This was somewhat disconcerting. Eleanor coughed.

“Will you be good enough to state your errand without further peroration. I do not relish being interrupted in my reading.”

“I—I—thought I ought to tell you,—to show you—I mean you ought to see this note which I found,” and Eleanor crossed the room to Miss Woodhull’s side, the note held toward her.

She took it, asking as she did so: “Why come to me about so trivial a matter? What is it? Where did you find it?”

“I didn’t think it trivial and that is why I came right to you,” Eleanor replied, ignoring the embarrassing questions.

Miss Woodhull opened the note. The first line acted like a galvanic shock. She sat up rigid as a lamp post. The words were “Darling Little Sweetheart:—” Then she read on:

“When I close my eyes I can still feel your soft arms about my neck and your kisses upon my lips. I can’t wait much longer for you, darling. Something must be done. I just can’t stand it. I’ve got to see you before Easter. It’s no use to say I can’t, because I’m going to—somehow. So don’t be surprised at anything. Leslie Manor is not so many miles away and ways and means can be contrived in spite of all the old maid guardians that ever lived. Wonder if the old lady knows how it feels to have a man kiss her? I bet she don’t! I’ve never seen your Suffragette queen, but I don’t need to after all you’ve told me about her. She must be a cuckoo.

“So keep your weather eye piped, sweetness and leave the rest to your

By the time the Empress reached the last word of that missive her face had assumed the color of a gobbler’s wattles, and her eyes were blazing. Eleanor was nearly frightened to death at the Genius of Wrath which she had invoked.

“To whom does this nauseating thing belong?”

“It was not in an envelope when I found it, Miss Woodhull.”

“Where did you find it?”

Eleanor hesitated, it would never do to seem too communicative.

“Did you understand my question?”

“Yes, Miss Woodhull.”

“Then reply at once.”

“I found it in the south wing,” she said hesitatingly.

“Ah!” The word was exhaled triumphantly. “In the lower end of that wing?”

“Yes, Miss Woodhull.”

“Near Suite 10?”

She recalled the tall, acrobatic visitor of All Saints’ Eve. She had always suspected Beverly and her suspicions had been confirmed when Admiral Ashby asked her to sanction visits from Athol and Archie. “You did quite right to come to me with this letter. It is far too serious a matter to be dealt with by my subordinates. I highly commend your discretion. I shall sift the matter to the bottom.”

Eleanor winced. That “sifting” might change from a small affair to a large one, as a snowball may grow into an avalanche. Then she said with well-assumed contrition, “Oh, Miss Woodhull, I would not for the world accuse anyone. It may be just fun——”

“There is no element of fun in such a letter as this, and absolutely no humor. I have realized for some time that a decided atmosphere was being created in this school, but have been unable to discover its origin, and this,” giving the letter the vicious shake a terrier would give a rat, “may prove the touchstone. I need hardly enjoin absolute secrecy upon your part. You have already proved your discretion. If you make any further discoveries you will, of course, come to me at once. By-the-way, when did you find the letter?”

“Why—er—several days ago, Miss Woodhull.”

“Then why have you so long delayed coming to me?” The eyes were very searching.

“I was afraid—afraid—I might be mistaken. That after all it really didn’t mean anything. The girls often play jokes upon one another, you know.”

“Not such senseless jokes as this one I trust. What caused you to alter your opinion?”

The professional stage certainly missed a star when it failed to discover Eleanor. She hesitated, looked down, then up with appealing eyes. She twisted her fingers together and untwisted them. She shifted from one foot to the other, all of which was maddeningly irritating to Miss Woodhull.

“This is no time for hesitation,—speak!”

“This afternoon,” whispered Eleanor.

“Sit in that chair and tell me everything without further circumlocution.” The tone was final.

With appropriate hesitancy the events of the afternoon were graphically pictured for the Empress. When they were completely drawn she said with the grimness of Fate: “You may go, but remember, not one word to your companions.” A most superfluous admonition, for Eleanor was nearly petrified with fear as it was. She retreated to her room with all possible speed and her room-mate wondered what had taken place to make her look so pale, but refrained from asking questions. Eleanor and her room-mate were not entirely congenial.

It was close to nine-thirty when she entered her room which was on the floor above Beverly’s. Down in hospitable Suite 10 the social spirit was rampant. The Basket-ball victory was being celebrated by a spread. Light bell did not ring until ten Saturday nights. Beverly was in the act of biting into a chocolate eclair when Miss Stetson came to the door. Beverly was sitting back to it and supposed it was one of her companions.

As all will concede, an eclair is, to say the least, an uncertain quantity. Even upon a plate and carefully manipulated with a fork, it is given to erratic performances. When held between a thumb and forefinger, and bitten into, its possibilities are beyond conjecture. Miss Stetson appeared at a most inopportune moment (she usually did) and each girl rose to her feet, Beverly under the circumstances being the last to do so because she had no idea that Miss Stetson was anywhere near No. 10. Her tardy uprising brought about the inevitable result. Her teeth came together upon her eclair and the filling escaped its bounds, landing in many places that it should not have landed. When Miss Stetson had removed about a tablespoonful of cream filling from her bosom, she said icily: “Miss Ashby, you are to report at Miss Woodhull’s study at once,” and utterly ignored Beverly’s apologies.

“Report at Miss Woodhull’s office at nine-thirty at night?”

Consternation fell upon the revellers. The hair had snapped and Damocles’ sword had certainly fallen.