ve a--a tone to the paper--and--?"

"I do; a sombre, awful, majestic tone, if you like, but still one that
ought to be worth something."

Sharlee looked sad, and it was one of her best looks.

"Ah, me! I don't know what will become of him if he is turned adrift.
Could you, _could_ you do anything?"

"I can, and will," said he agreeably. "I think the man's valuable, and
you may count on it that I shall use my influence to have him kept."

So the Star and the Planet again fought in their courses for Mr. Queed.
West, gazing down at her, overcoat on arm, looked like a Planet who
usually had his way. The Star, too, had strong inclinations in the same
direction. For example, she had noted at supper the lily-of-the-valley
in the Planet's buttonhole, and she had not been able to see any good
reason for that.

Her eyes became dreamy. "How shall I say thank you?... I know. I must
give you one of my pretty flowers for your buttonhole." She began
pulling out one of the glorious roses, but suddenly checked herself and
gazed off pensively into space, a finger at her lip. "Ah! I thought this
gesture seemed strangely familiar, and now I remember. I gave him a
flower once before, and ah, look!... the president of the college has
tossed it away."

West glanced hastily down at his buttonhole. The lily-of-the-valley was
gone; he had no idea where he had lost it, nor could he now stay to
inquire. The rose he took with tender carefulness from the upper pocket
of his waistcoat.

"What did Mademoiselle expect?" said he, with a courtly bow. "The
president wears it over his heart."

Sharlee's smile was a coronation for a man.

"That one was for the president. This new one," said she, plucking it
out, "is for the director and--the man."

This new one, after all, she put into his buttonhole with her own hands,
while he held her great bunch of them. As she turned away from the
dainty ceremony, her color faintly heightened, Sharlee looked straight
into the narrow eyes of Miss Avery, who, talking with a little knot of
men some distance away, had been watching her closely. The two girls
smiled and bowed to each other with extraordinary sweetness.

X

_Of Fifi on Friendship, and who would be sorry if Queed died; of
Queed's Mad Impulse, sternly overcome; of his Indignant Call upon
Nicolovius, the Old Professor_.

Could I interrupt you for just a minute, Mr. Queed?"

"No. It is not time yet."

"Cicero's so horr