To Miss Katherine Winthrop’s credit it must be stated that she desired her students at Primrose Hall to grow into something more useful than mere society women. Her ambition was to have them fill many important positions in the modern world now offering such big opportunities to clever women. Miss Winthrop was herself an unusually clever woman, cold perhaps and not sympathetic with most of her girls, but just always and interested in their welfare. But then none of her girls knew the story of her youth nor realized that the last life she had ever expected for herself in her rich and brilliant girlhood was that of a mistress of a fashionable boarding school. Years before, Katherine Winthrop had been the belle and beauty of the countryside, a toast in New York City and in the homes of the old Dutch and English families along the Hudson River, until she had let her pride spoil the one romance of her life. By and by, when her father died and her family fortune disappeared, she had then opened up her old home as a girls’ boarding school and her aristocratic connections and old name immediately made Primrose Hall both fashionable and popular, until now its mere name lent its students an assured social prestige. Nevertheless, Miss Winthrop wished her school to be something more than fashionable. Indeed, this thought had been in her mind when she had chosen the ranch girls for her pupils from among a list of fifty or more applicants whom she had been obliged to refuse. There was little in the life of her school which she did not see and understand, and now her hope was that Jean and Olive and Frieda, with their freedom from snobbery, their simplicity and broader way of looking at things, would bring the element most needed into their mere money-loving and conventional eastern atmosphere. Though no one had mentioned it to her, she had already observed Jean’s great popularity with her classmates, Frieda’s good time among the younger girls and Olive’s failure to make friends. What was the trouble with this third ranch girl?

Although Miss Winthrop had been particularly busy for the past month in getting her school into good working order, she had not forgotten the peculiar emotion that Olive had awakened in her at their first meeting. Because the child was unusual in her manner and appearance was scarcely a sufficient reason for the universal prejudice against her, and to-night, at the first dance of the school season, Miss Winthrop had determined to watch Olive closely and find out for herself wherein lay the difficulty. Jessica Hunt was receiving with Miss Winthrop to-night and had also wondered how Olive would stand the ordeal of their first evening entertainment. For the dances at Primrose Hall were not informal, it being a part of the principal’s idea that they should train her girls for social life in any part of the world where in later years circumstances might chance to take them.

Miss Winthrop, her teachers and students, always appeared in full evening dress at these entertainments, and this evening Miss Winthrop wore a plain black velvet gown with a small diamond star at her throat, a piece of jewelry for which she had a peculiar affection. Jessica Hunt, who was standing next her, was in pure white, so that her blue eyes and the bronze-gold of her hair (so like Jack’s, Olive had thought) made a striking contrast with the darker, sterner beauty of the older woman. Though there were a dozen or more of the Primrose Hall girls grouped about the two women when Jean and Olive entered the reception room together, both of them immediately saw and watched them as they came slowly forward.

The eyes of Jean, the flush and sparkle of her, spoke of her anticipation of unutterable delights. Yet who should know, as she moved through the room with an expression of fine unconsciousness, that this was the first really formal party she had ever attended in her life. Neither her blush nor her dimple betrayed her, although she was perfectly aware that a number of youths in long-tailed coats and black trousers, wearing immaculate white gloves and ties, had stopped talking for several moments to their girl friends in order to glance at Olive and at her. She even saw, without appearing to lift her lids, that a tall, blonde fellow standing near her friend, Margaret Belknap, was deliberately staring at her through a pair of eyeglasses. And at once Jean decided that the young man was extremely ugly in spite of his fashionable clothes and therefore not to be compared to Ralph Merrit or other simple western fellows whom she had known in the past.

Perhaps five minutes were required for this list of Jean’s passing observations in her forward progress toward Miss Winthrop, and yet in the same length of time Olive, who was close beside her, had seen nothing “but a sea of unknown faces.” Even her school companions to-night in their frocks of silk and lace looked unfamiliar. And yet somehow, with Jean’s assistance, she also managed to arrive in front of Miss Winthrop and Jessica Hunt and to pay her respects to them. Then, still sticking close to Jean, she was soon borne off for a short distance and there surrounded by a group of Jean’s girl friends.

Half a dozen or more of them, Gerry Ferrows and Margaret Belknap in the number, had come up with their cousins, brothers and friends to meet Jean Bruce and to fill up her dance card. They were, of course, also introduced to Olive, but as she did not speak, no one noticed her particularly and no one invited her to dance. Jean had not intended to desert Olive, but when the music of the first waltz began she forgot her and marched off with an enthusiastic partner, who had asked Gerry Ferrows to introduce him to the most fascinating girl in the room, and Gerry had unhesitatingly chosen Jean.

There were two or three other girls and young men standing near Olive when Jean had turned away, but a few seconds later and she was entirely alone.

Is there greater anguish than for a shy girl unaccustomed to society to find herself solitary in a crowded ballroom? At first Olive felt desperate, knowing that her cheeks were crimson with shame and fearing that her eyes were filling with tears. Then looking about her she soon discovered a group of palms in a corner of the room not far away and guessed that she could find shelter behind them. Slipping across she came upon a small sofa hidden behind the evergreens, and with a little sigh of thanksgiving sank down upon it. Soon after Olive began to grow serene, for from her retreat she could watch the dancers and see what a good time Jean and Frieda were having without being seen herself. Once she almost laughed aloud as Frieda waltzed by her hiding place—Frieda, who had been a fat, little girl with long plaits down her back just a few weeks ago, now attired in a blue silk and lace, was whirling about on the arm of a long-legged boy who had such a small nose and ridiculous quantity of blonde curls that he might almost have been Frieda’s twin brother. Five minutes later Olive decided that Jean was the belle of the evening and that she would write the news to Jack to-morrow, for apparently every young man in the ballroom was wishing to dance with her. Even the supercilious fellow with the eyeglasses, whom Olive recognized as Margaret Belknap’s much-talked-of Harvard brother, could be seen dancing attendance on Jean.

Twenty minutes, half an hour must have passed by in this fashion until Olive felt perfectly safe in her green retreat, when unexpectedly a hand was laid upon her shoulder and a voice said sternly, “What in the world, child, are you doing hiding yourself in here? When I said you could not stay up in your room to-night it was because I desired you to take part in the dancing; there really isn’t much difference between your being concealed up there or here.”

And then to Olive’s discouragement an absurd catch in her breath made her unable to answer at once.

Olive’s retreat behind the palms had not been unnoticed as she had thought, for both Miss Winthrop and Jessica Hunt had seen first her embarrassment at being left alone and next her withdrawal. In much the same fashion that Jack would have followed, Jessica had wished to rush off at once to comfort Olive, but Miss Winthrop had held her back.

“What is the difficulty about this girl, Jessica, what makes her so unpopular?” she had asked when every one else was out of hearing. “I wish you would tell me if you know any explanation for it.”

But Jessica had only been able to shake her head, answering, “I can’t for the life of me understand. There are a good many little things that Olive does not seem to know, and yet, as she studies very hard, I believe she will soon be one of the honor girls in my class. I have a friend in New York, or an acquaintance rather,” and here Jessica blushed unaccountably, “who seems to know the ranch girls very well. Perhaps I had best ask him if there is anything unusual about Olive.”

But the older woman had interrupted, “No, I had rather you would ask no questions, at least not now please, Jessica, for I have heard at least a part of the girl’s history, and yet I believe the real truth is not known to any one and perhaps never will be. It may be happier for Olive if it never is found out, but I wish we could teach her not to be so sensitive.” And then when the opportunity arrived Miss Winthrop had moved across the room to where Olive was in hiding. As the girl’s startled brown eyes were upturned to hers Miss Winthrop, who was not poetic, yet thought that her pupil in her pale green dress with her queer pointed chin and her air of mystery, somehow suggested a girl from some old fairy legend of the sea. And she wondered why the girls and young men in the ballroom had not also seen Olive’s unusual beauty, forgetting that young people seldom admire what is out of the ordinary.

Some impulse after her first speech to Olive made the older woman quickly put out her hand, clasping Olive’s slender brown fingers in hers. “Don’t be afraid of me,” she said in a voice that was gentler than usual, “for I understand it is timidity that is making you hide yourself. Don’t you think though that you would enjoy dancing?”

Olive’s face was suddenly aglow. “I should love it,” she returned, forgetting for the instant her shyness, “only no one has invited me.” Then as her teacher suddenly rose to her feet, as though intending to find her a partner, with a sudden accession of dignity and fearlessness Olive drew her down again. “Please don’t ask anyone to dance with me, Miss Winthrop,” she begged; “if you will sit by me for a little while I am sure it will be delightful just watching the others.”

While the woman and girl were quietly gazing at the dancers, Miss Winthrop happened to notice a silver chain with a cross at the end of it, which Olive was wearing around her throat. Leaning over she took the cross in her hand. “This is an odd piece of jewelry, child, and must be very old; it is so heavy that I wonder if there is anything concealed inside it.”

Olive shook her head. “No, that is, I don’t know anything about it, except that I hope it once belonged to my mother,” she replied. For some strange reason this shy girl was speaking of her mother to a comparative stranger, when she rarely had spoken the name even to her best beloved friend, Jacqueline Ralston.

But before Miss Winthrop had time to reply a new voice startled both of them. “Why, Olive Ralston,” it exclaimed, “what do you mean by hiding yourself away with Miss Winthrop when I have been searching the house over for you.”

Turning around, to her intense surprise, Olive now beheld Donald Harmon standing near them, the young fellow whose father had rented the Rainbow Ranch from the Ralston girls the summer before and whose sister had been responsible for Jack Ralston’s fall over the cliff.

“I wonder why you would not tell Olive that I was to be one of your guests to-night, Miss Winthrop,” he continued, “and that my aunt is your old friend and lives near Primrose Hall.”

While Miss Winthrop was laughing and protesting that she had no idea that Olive and Donald could know each other, Donald was trying to persuade Olive out on the ballroom floor for her first dance with him. By accident it happened to be a Spanish waltz and Olive had not danced it before, but she had been watching the other girls. Donald was an excellent partner and in five minutes she might have been dancing it all her life.

Now dancing with Olive and with Jean was quite a different art, although both of the girls were beautiful dancers. Jean was gay and vivacious, full of grace and activity, keeping excellent time to the music, but Olive seemed to move like a flower that is swayed by the wind, hardly conscious of what she was dancing or how she was dancing it and yet yielding her body to every note of the music and movement of her partner.

By and by, as Olive and Donald continued their dancing, many of the others stopped and at once the young men demanded to be told who Olive was and why she had been hidden away from their sight until now? Whatever replies the girls may have made to these questions, they did not apparently affect their questioners, for from the time of her first dance until the close of the evening Olive no longer lacked for partners. She did not talk very much, but her eyes shone and her cheeks grew crimson with pleasure and now and then her low laugh rang out, and always she could dance. What did conversation at a ball amount to anyhow when movement was the thing, and this stranger girl could dance like a fairy princess just awakened from a long enchantment?

Donald Harmon grew sorry later in the evening that he had ever brought Olive forth from her retreat, but just before midnight, when Primrose Hall parties must always come to an end, he did manage to get her away for a moment out on the veranda, where chairs were placed so that the young people could rest and talk.