id Grace quickly.

"Well, you can be sure now. I don't want you to think me a Paul Pry, but
I know all about that Christmas business last year."

"What 'Christmas business'?" asked Grace sharply.

"You know very well what I mean, the eight girls and all that."

"Why--who----" began Grace in displeased astonishment.

"No, I didn't try to find out," interrupted Elfreda. "You know me better
than that. No one told me, either. I just put two and two together. I
could see last year that----"

"Is there anything you can't see?" exclaimed Grace.

"Not much," responded Elfreda modestly. "I knew, of course, you would do
something for those girls this year."

"You could see that, I suppose," said Grace satirically.

"Exactly," nodded Elfreda with an irresistible grin. Their eyes meeting,
both girls laughed. Elfreda's face sobered first. "My news isn't
pleasant, Grace. Read this." Slipping her hand into her coat pocket she
drew forth a half sheet of paper partly covered with writing. Grace
received it wonderingly:

"Two Overton College Girls Play Lady Bountiful to Their Needy
Classmates," she read. The words were arranged to form headlines, and
below was written: "The latest whim of two wealthy students of Overton
College has taken the form of Sweet Charity, and impecunious students of
Overton whose finances will not permit of their making long railway
journeys home for Christmas are to be the object of these young women's
solicitude. Their less fortunate classmates will be their guests at a
dinner on Christmas which by special arrangement will be served
at----" The writing ended with the bottom of the sheet.

"What do you think of that?" demanded Elfreda laconically.

A tide of crimson rose to Grace's face. "I think it is contemptible,"
she cried. "When and where did you find it, Elfreda?"

"Just outside the door of the room at the end of the hall," replied
Elfreda. "I picked it up as I was coming back from the delicatessen
shop."

Grace's eyes flashed. "I suspected as much," she said shortly. "What
does this look like to you, Elfreda?"

"Newspaper copy," replied Elfreda promptly. "It isn't the first, either.
I happen to know she writes college stuff and sends it to her paper
every week. I knew that long ago. I subscribed to the Sunday edition of
her paper on purpose. I know her articles, too. She signs them
'Elizabeth Vassar.' I have been quietly censoring them all along, ready
to object if she once overstepped