inner bell found her
tucking in a last unruly lock. "I'm going on downstairs, Grace," called
Anne from the doorway.

"All right," answered Grace. As she passed Elfreda's room she heard her
name uttered in a sibilant whisper. Wheeling at the sound, Grace stepped
to the stout girl's door. Elfreda drew her in and, closing the door,
said nervously: "What do you suppose has happened? I waited and waited
for the An--Miss Atkins and she didn't appear, so I went down to her
room and found the door closed. I knocked at least a dozen times, until
my knuckles ached, but not a sound came from within. Then I came back to
my room and waited. She hasn't materialized yet. I went down to her door
just now and knocked again, but, nothing doing." In her agitation
Elfreda dropped into slang.

"That is strange," agreed Grace. "Do you suppose she has been taken
suddenly ill?"

"Search me," declared Elfreda wearily. "She ought to be called the
Riddle. She is past solution, isn't she? I'm hungry, and if she doesn't
appear within the next five minutes I'm going to put on my old brown
serge dress and go down to dinner. I'm not used to being invited out to
dine and then deserted before I've even had a chance to look at the bill
of fare."

"Never mind," comforted Grace. "I'll ask you to dinner at Martell's next
week and won't desert you either. Wait a minute. I will go down to the
dining room and see if by any chance she could be there. Then I'll come
upstairs and let you know. If she isn't there you had better change your
gown and go downstairs with me."

"She isn't there," reported Grace, five minutes later. "Miss Taylor is,
but her roommate is missing."

"'Parted at the altar,'" quoted Elfreda dramatically. "Will you please
unhook me?"

For the second time that night Grace busied herself with the troublesome
hooks and eyes. Elfreda jerked off the new gown. Her temper was rising.
"This is what comes of cultivating freaks," she muttered, lapsing into
her old rudeness. "I might have known she'd do something. Catch me on
any more reform committees!"

"The way of the reformer is hard," soothed Grace, as she picked up the
gown Elfreda had thrown in a heap on the floor, and folding it, laid it
across the foot of the stout girl's couch.

Elfreda, who was reaching into the closet for her brown serge dress,
wheeled about, regarding Grace solemnly. "Too hard for me," she
declared. "Hereafter, the Anarchist can attend to her own reformation.
T