Just about this time a new figure appeared at Wellington College. She was known as “inspector of dormitories,” and her office was mainly sanitary, and did not infringe on the duties of the matrons. The new inspector lodged at Queen’s, since there was an empty room in that establishment, and her name was Miss Steel.

“If she had had her choice of all the names in the English language, she could not have chosen a more suitable one,” remarked Judy who had taken a violent dislike to Miss Steel from the first.

She was indeed a steel-like person, steely eyes, steel-gray hair, pale, thin lips, and at her belt metallic chains from which jangled notebook and pencil. When she spoke, which was rarely, her voice was sharp and incisive, and cut the air like a knife. But her most objectionable quality, the girls thought, was that she never made any sound when she walked, the reason being that she had rubber heels on her shoes.

The first real encounter the girls had with Miss Steel was at a Thanksgiving Eve spread given by the combined G.F. Society, most of the members having received bountiful Thanksgiving boxes from home. Nance’s neglected and lonely father had sent her a five-pound box of candy in lieu of the usual box, which takes a woman to plan and pack, and Judy’s devoted parents, always on the fly, had shipped her a box of fruit. All the others had received regular boxes full of Thanksgiving cheer, and the feast was to be a grand one. Each member invited guests, and by general vote extra ones were asked: Frances Andrews, who declined because she was going away, and two freshmen who lived in the village, and were working their way through college. Judith Blount was to be there by invitation of pretty Jessie Lynch, and Molly had invited Mary Stewart.

Most of the girls wore fancy costumes, and Molly’s and Nance’s large room was the scene of an extravaganza. The feast was piled on four study tables placed in an unbroken row and covered with a white cloth.

Jessie had worn her famous ballet costume, and was as pretty as a little captive sprite. Judith was in a gorgeous Turkish dress consisting of full yellow silk trousers, a tunic of transparent net and embroidered Turkish slippers. Nance wore her Scotch costume, and at the last minute Molly, who had been too busy even to think of a costume all day, dressed herself up charmingly like a Tyrolean peasant in what she could collect from the other girls.

A great many of the guests had arrived and the room was filled when a chambermaid appeared in the doorway with a tray of cards.

“Some gentlemen to call, Miss,” she said, endeavoring not to smile at a Little Boy Blue and a Little Lord Fauntleroy, who were waltzing together.

There were four cards on the tray: “Mr. Edwin Green,” “Mr. George Theodore Green,” “Andrew McLean, 2d,” and “Mr. Lawrence Upton.”

“Well, of all the strange times to pay a call,” exclaimed Molly. “Will you say that we are very sorry, but we must be excused this evening,” she said to the maid.

The servant bowed and slipped away, while all the girls in the room pounced on the cards.

“Well, I never! Four beaux, and one of them a professor!” cried Jessie, showing the cards to Judith.

“Miss Brown could hardly claim Cousin Edwin as a beau,” said Judith, her black eyes snapping. “His younger brother, George, often drags him into things, and poor Cousin Edwin consents to go because George is so timid, but as for paying a social call on a freshman, even the most self-confident freshman could hardly regard a visit from him as that.”

“I don’t regard it as that,” ejaculated Molly.

She was not accustomed to sharp-tongued people, and it was really difficult for her to deal with them properly, as Judy could, and Nance, too. But she forced herself to remember that Judith was a guest in her room, and was about to partake of some of her good Kentucky fare. She turned away without saying another word, and fortunately the maid came back just then and relieved the strained situation.

“The gentlemen say they must see you, ma’am,” she said; “and if you won’t come down to them, they’ll just come upstairs.”

“What?” cried a chorus of girls.

Suddenly there was a wild scramble on the stairs; shouts of laughter, a sound of heavy boots thumping along the hall, and four tall young men burst into the room. There were shrieks from disappearing Boy Blues and Fauntleroys, who endeavored to cover their extremities with sofa cushions, the captive sprite rushed into a closet and a wild scene of disorder and pandemonium followed.

“Don’t be frightened, ladies,” said the tallest young man, who wore correct evening clothes, from his opera hat and pearl studs to his pointed patent leather pumps. His hair was light and curly, and he had a long yellow mustache, like Lord Dundreary’s.

“Ladies! ladies! why all this excitement?” called another of the quartette, dressed in full black and white checked trousers, a short tan overcoat, a red tie and a brown derby.

The third young man wore a smoking jacket and white duck trousers, and the fourth was dressed in an English golf suit and visored cap.

“Oh, you villains!” cried Jessica, popping her head out of the closet. “You have frightened us almost to death. Do you think I wouldn’t know you, Margaret Wakefield, even in that sporting suit. Come over here and show yourself!”

The bogus gentlemen were indeed three of the evening’s hostesses and one of the guests. Mary Stewart wore the evening clothes, borrowed from her brother for a senior play to take place shortly. Judy had on the golf suit, Sallie Marks the dinner coat and Margaret the rakish sporting costume.

“But where did you get the cards?” asked Judith, ashamed of herself, now that the visitors’ real identity was disclosed.

“I wrote to Dodo and asked him for them,” answered Judy, giving her a look, as much as to say, “What affair is it of yours?”

After the banquet was commenced and the fun waxed fast and furious, there was a cakewalk at the last, with a box of “cloud-bursts” as the prize, the eight hostesses taking turns as judges.

“After this wild orgy, I think we’d better be leaving,” said Mary Stewart. “It’s getting cold and late, but we’ve had a glorious time. Will you permit a gentleman to kiss you on the cheek, Molly?”

“That I will,” answered Molly, “and proud of the honor.”

Slipping on a skirt and a long ulster, Mary took her departure with Judith and the other girls, who did not have rooms at Queen’s, and pretty soon the party had disbanded.

“I’ll stay and help you gather up the loaves and fishes,” Judy announced. “It’ll soon be ten, but we can hang a dressing gown over the transom and draw the blinds and no one will know the difference just this once,” she added, proceeding to carry out her ideas of deception.

“I’m still hungry,” observed Nance. “I had to wait on so many people I didn’t have a chance to eat any supper myself.”

“So am I famished,” said Molly; “but I was ashamed to confess it.”

“I’d like a cup of hot tea,” observed Judy, who had waited on nobody but herself.

“When Mrs. Markham comes around,” cautioned Nance, “in case she knocks on the door, one of us be ready to put out the light. Judy, you slip into the closet. She’s been known to come in, you know, after one of these jamborees.”

“Mrs. Markham’s away,” answered Judy. “‘Steel beads’ is taking her place until after Thanksgiving.”

The girls munched their sandwiches and talked in low voices. Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the door. Instantly the light went out and there was dead silence. Judy, crawling on all fours toward the closet, was about to conceal herself behind protecting skirts, when the rap was repeated.

“Well, what is it?” called Nance, the boldest among them, “the light is out.”

There was no answer and the rap was not repeated.

The girls waited a few moments, and then cautiously lighting a student’s lamp with a green shade, proceeded with their supper. Judy looked at her watch. It was a quarter of eleven.

Again they were interrupted. This time by some pebbles thrown against the window.

Molly raised the sash softly and gazed down into the darkness below.

“What is it?” she called.

“It’s Margaret,” answered a voice from the yard. “For the love of heaven, can’t you let me in? I’ll explain afterward. I wouldn’t mind ringing up Mrs. Markham, but I’m afraid of that Steel woman.”

“Wait a minute,” answered Molly, and closing the window, she turned to consult with the others.

“There’s nothing to be done but to go down,” they decided, and Molly insisted on being the sacrificial lamb. Judy made her slip on her nightgown over her dress, and her dressing gown over that, in order to appear in the proper guise in case anything happened.

But they were doomed to another shock that night.

Just as Molly opened the door she came face to face with Miss Steel standing outside in the hall.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Molly politely, feeling thankful she had put on her nightgown, “I thought I heard a noise outside.”

“You seem to be sitting up very late to-night, Miss Brown,” said Miss Steel, looking at her coldly. “I was told to enforce the ten o’clock rule in Mrs. Markham’s absence, and I must ask you to get to bed at once, unless you wish to be reported.”

“I’m sorry,” said Molly.

The woman seemed unnecessarily stern, she thought, because, after all, this was not a boarding school, but a college. However, she went back, and closed and bolted the door. In her heart she felt a contempt for any one who would creep about and listen at people’s doors. Mrs. Markham would have been incapable of it.

Just then there came another pebble against the window.

Judy crept to the window this time.

“Wait, Margaret,” she called. “Miss Steel is about.”

There was perfect stillness for several long black minutes. The three girls sat in a row on the floor listening with strained ears and to Judy at least the adventure was not without its enjoyment. At last they felt that it might be safe to act. Taking off their shoes they moved noiselessly to the window and looked down. There stood the courageous Margaret in full view on the roof of the piazza. She had actually shinned up one of the pillars, which was not such a difficult feat as it might seem, as the railing around the piazza had placed her within reach of the wooden grillwork and swinging onto that she had drawn herself up to the roof. She had skinned her wrist and stumped one of her stockinged toes, having removed her shoes and hidden them under the house, but she appeared now the very figure of courage and action, waiting for the next move. The three girls stood looking down at her in a state of fearful uncertainty as to what should be done next, and as if this were not exciting enough, three light telegraphic taps were heard on the door.

“That’s not Miss Steel,” whispered Judy.

“Who is it,” she called softly through the keyhole.

“Jessie,” came the answer.

Instantly the door was opened and Jessie crept in.

“Miss Steel is up,” she whispered. “I saw her on the landing below just now. Be careful. I am scared to death because Margaret hasn’t come back.”

For an answer, they led her to the window and pointed to the shadowy figure of her roommate on the piazza roof.

Because Molly had conceived a dislike and distrust for Miss Steel, she made up her mind to outwit her and save her friend. She reflected that if Margaret tried any of the girls on the second floor whose windows opened on the roof, she might get in but she would still have the third flight to make and as the stairs creaked at every step, it would be a difficult matter. Fortunately Miss Steel’s room was on the other side of the hall.

“I have a scheme,” she whispered at last. “Now, don’t any one move. I can manage it without making a sound.”

There was a ball of twine on the mantelpiece. Thank heavens for that. She tied one end to the back of a cane chair, which she let slowly out of the window. Then, snipping off the end of the cord, she gave it to Nance to hold. Another chair, which was fortunately smaller, she let down in the same way and finally a stool. Margaret placed one on top of the other, mounted the precarious and toppling pyramid, and with the strength of arm and wrist which showed her gymnasium training, pulled herself to the window sill and was in the room.

“Be quiet,” they whispered. “Miss Steel is about.”

The four girls lay down on the couches and waited a long time. Judy really fell asleep in the interval before they dared risk pulling back the chairs. It was, in fact, a risky business, and had to be done cautiously and carefully to keep them from bumping against the walls of the house. At last, however, the whole thing was accomplished.

Margaret explained that she had gone over to one of the other houses to return the clothes she had borrowed and had joined another Thanksgiving party and stayed longer than she had intended. They also had been held up by the matron, and had been obliged to put out the lights and hide everything under the bed. She had escaped from the house by a miracle without being found out, and had trusted to luck and her friends for getting into Queen’s unobserved.

And now, at last, the adventure was almost over. After another interminable wait, Judy and Margaret and Jessie crept off to their rooms.

Judy’s door was still ajar when she saw a flash of light on the stairs, which heralded the approach of Miss Steel, still fully clothed, and walking noiselessly as usual. Judy closed her door and locked it softly.

“Only a spy would wear felt slippers,” she said to herself scornfully. Then she laughed. “It was rather good fun to be sure, but would it have mattered so much, after all, if Margaret had boldly come in at the front door and explained?”

They would never have gone to all that trouble to deceive nice Mrs. Markham, her thoughts continued as she removed her manly attire, but Miss Steel was different.

As for Molly, her thoughts were about the same as Judy’s.

“A lady doesn’t creep,” she was thinking, as she thankfully crawled into bed; “a lady doesn’t listen at doors or wear soundless slippers in order to walk like a cat. No, Miss Steel is decidedly not a lady.”

And when Molly came to this decision about a person, she avoided them carefully ever afterward. Her definition of a “lady” was about the same as a man’s definition of a “gentleman.” It had nothing whatever to do with birth or education.