like nothing better than coming. I haven't
been to a 'blow-out' this fall. But I hardly think I can come now." She
hesitated. She spoke slowly as though she could not put her thoughts into
the proper words. "I really wish to come, Miss Hobart. It is kind of you
to ask me. I don't want to take advantage of your goodness, so I must tell
you why the girls here do not care to know me. I did something wrong last
year--something they look upon as dreadful. They all belong to the
Christian Association. As an Association they are pledged to
discountenance just what I did. I'm not a member. So since last spring
I've been cut out of every social affair except those the school gives."

"Well, I call that mean," cried Elizabeth. "Why don't you--"

"No, they were right in one way. I tell you so much because I cannot
accept your invitation if you do not know. If you wish me to tell you all
about it, I will, although I have spoken of the matter to no one. I
couldn't."

"No, I don't want to hear. I wish you to come to-night. I'd rather find
matters out for myself. You'll come?"

"Does Miss Wilson know you intend asking me?"

"Yes, of course. I made out the list this morning." She did not add that
Miss Wilson had expressed herself rather strongly on the subject.

"Well, then I shall come."

"I must go, or I shall be too late to get any dinner at all. This is roast
beef night, too; and that's the night I always pay the cook a compliment
by eating two portions--my own and Anna Cresswell's. She doesn't like
roast beef, and I don't like rice pudding. So we trade. Good-bye. I'll see
you then to-night."

"The mail has come," was Miss Wilson's greeting, as Elizabeth entered her
room. "I have a letter from Mrs. Gleason. She writes to invite me to spend
a Sabbath with her at my earliest convenience. I am to bring you along. I
did not know you knew her. I've mentioned her so often and you never said
that you were friends."

"I don't know her." Elizabeth was struggling into a white shirtwaist as
she talked. "I never saw her. There must be some mistake about her asking
me."

"No; there's the letter. Read it when you have leisure. I thought from the
way she wrote that she knew you well. Odd, isn't it? But we'll go. It is
the best place to visit."

"But we cannot go for several weeks. I'm to lead Sabbath evening."

"And I can't go until Anna Cresswell can be here. She has been going away
on Saturday. They need a soprano. And she and I