ey? But I am. I
didn't see _how_ I could hunt up all those references with all I have to
do."

Miss Ashwell showed her the pictures, but Judith's mind was divided
between interest at the skilful ways in which difficulties of transit in
the mountains had been overcome and interest in Miss Ashwell. Was it
possible that Miss Ashwell was interested in a soldier-man the way girls
were? Of course, she wasn't so _very_ old, perhaps twenty-two, and as
Judith ran off with her treasure she kept saying to herself, "Wouldn't
it be funny--he looks awfully nice in the snaps--she's a perfect dear,
anyway, and I'll get at that Current Events prep. right away."

Next day Miss Marlowe handed back the "Jessica" essays to her Five A
class in English composition. Five A looked glum as they read their
marks and the somewhat caustic comments written in their exercise books.
Judith flushed as she read: "Neatly and carefully written, Judith, but
hardly interesting. You were not asked to give a resume of the play, but
a character sketch of Jessica. What do you know about Jessica now that
you didn't know before you wrote your essay? How have you enlarged your
knowledge of human nature?"

How, indeed? Judith felt distinctly aggrieved. What impossibly hard
things Miss Marlowe expected them to do! She had worked hard over that
essay and had looked for a little praise, but instead here was Miss
Marlowe thumping the desk and telling them they never used their brains.
Five A sat at attention. Miss Marlowe, indignant, was apt to be
interesting, but no one desired to be the luckless offender against whom
her Irish wit might be directed.

She gave them a lively two minutes on the foolishness of not using the
brains they had, and then came down to the subject in hand.

"You didn't try to _understand_ Jessica; you knew that her conduct was
unfilial, to say the least, and don't imagine that I am forgetting the
wrong things she did, or that I want you to approve of her. I _don't_,
but I do want you to try to understand. That's just the reason why you
were assigned this lesson. Only one of you made the effort to re-create
Shylock's home. Read your essay, Florence, please."

The class looked surprised as Florence, white with shyness, began to
read, falteringly at first and then more convincingly. Every one, with
the exception perhaps of Judith, was surprised at the excellence of the
essay. Florence Newman, that quiet, shy, stiff, little thing! They had
e