o do it."

"I haven't a particle of influence with her," said Grace soberly. "You
must know that from what I have already told you."

"Yes, I do know it," answered Mabel. "Is there any one at Wayne Hall who
would be likely to have the right kind of influence?"

"No-o-o." Grace shook her head doubtfully. Then she suddenly brightened.
"There is one person who might help her. Elfreda is going to invite her
to the sophomore reception. She doesn't wish to do it, I know, although
she hasn't said so. Please don't think me conceited, but Elfreda would
do anything for me. She fancies herself under obligation to me on
account of what happened last year," Grace added in an embarrassed tone.

"Grace Harlowe!" exclaimed Mabel delightedly, "I believe we have solved
our problem. J. Elfreda is the very one to make Miss Atkins wake up to
what is expected from her at Overton. Will you talk with her about it,
and ask her if she is willing to try?"

"I'll tell her to-night," promised Grace. "I'm sure she'll try. She is
not afraid to tackle Miss Atkins, either, or she wouldn't have invited
her to the reception."

"Then that's settled for the time being at least," declared Mabel
jubilantly. "Just in time for dinner, too. There goes the bell."

After dinner more conversation followed. It was eight o'clock before
Grace remembered her theme. "What shall I write about?" she demanded.
"You promised to supply the inspiration."

"So I will," returned Mabel cheerfully. "Why don't you write
about--" She paused, frowning slightly. "After all my vaunted promises
I'm not able to suggest anything on the spur of the moment," she
confessed laughingly. "Why don't you take some incident in your own life
or that of your friends and write a story about it?" she proposed after
a moment's silence.

"I don't believe I could ever write a story," confessed Grace. "I think
I'll write a little discussion about girls and their ideals."

"That sounds interesting," commended Mabel. "Go ahead with it. You may
sit at this table, if you like."

Grace seated herself, nibbled at the end of her fountain pen
reflectively, then began to write. Mabel busied herself with her own
work. At last Grace shoved aside the closely written sheets of paper.
"It's done," she cried, in a triumphant voice. "Now we can talk."

"May I read it?" asked Mabel.

"Of course, if you wish to," laughed Grace. "It isn't worth the trouble,
though."

Mabel picked up the theme and began to