med chicken?" she cried. "Girls, I
dreamed about Cuyler's creamed chicken every night last week. I was so
afraid you wouldn't have it!"

Her appreciation of the dinner was so delightfully whole-hearted that
even Roberta forgave her everything, down to her absurd enthusiasm over
a ponderous psychology lecture and the very dull reception that followed
it. At the latter, to be sure, Mary acted exactly like her old self, for
she sat in a corner and monopolized Dr. Hinsdale for half an hour by the
clock, while her little friends, to quote Katherine Kittredge, "champed
their bits" in their impatience to capture her and escape to more
congenial regions.

The next night at the Westcott House dance Mary was again her gay and
sportive self. If she was bored, she concealed it admirably, and that in
spite of the fact that her little scheme of playing freshman seemed
doomed to failure. Mary had walked out of chapel that morning with the
front row, and, even without the enormous bunch of violets which none of
her senior friends would confess to having sent her, she was not a
figure to pass unnoticed. So most of the freshmen on her card recognized
her at once, and the few who did not stoutly refused to be taken in by
her innocent references to "our class."

She had the last dance but one with the sour-faced Miss Butts, who never
recognized any one; but Mary did not know that, and being rather tired
she swiftly waltzed her around the hall a few times and then suggested
that they watch the dance out from the gallery.

"What class are you?" asked Miss Butts, when they were established
there. "My card doesn't say."

"Doesn't it?" said Mary idly, watching the kaleidoscope of gay colors
moving dizzily about beneath her. "Then suppose you guess."

Miss Butts considered ponderously. "You aren't a freshman," she said
finally, "nor a sophomore."

"How are you so sure of that?" asked Mary. "I was just going to say----"

"You're a junior," announced Miss Butts, calmly disregarding the
interruption.

Mary shook her head.

"Senior, then."

Mary shook her head again.

"I didn't think you looked old enough for that," said Miss Butts. "Then
I was mistaken and you're a sophomore."

"No," said Mary firmly.

Miss Butts stared. "Freshman?"

"No," said Mary, who considered the befooling of Miss Butts beneath her.
"I graduated last year."

"Oh, I don't believe that: I believe you're a freshman after all,"
declared Miss Butts. "You star