again,
and contemplated Robbie Belle.

"I do believe that you would rather I suffered than that they became
offended with you. You are afraid to rebuke them."

Robbie's eyes fell and the guilty color rose slowly through the delicate
skin of throat and brow. But Miss Cutter did not see it. She had pulled
down the green shade and propping her elbows in their former position had
returned to her scansion. She had wasted too much time already.

Conscience-smitten Robbie Belle slid silently through the door and stood
at loss for a minute in the deserted corridor. It was Friday night.
Nobody studied on Friday night except girls who were queer or who roomed
with superior special students like Miss Cutter. On her first day at
college Miss Cutter had remarked that there might be a vacant seat of
congenial minds for Robbie at her table. Somehow the grave young freshman
who was hoping for fun failed to find them satisfying. She had not won a
real friend yet, and here it was the end of October.

Robbie Belle was not conceited enough to feel sorry for herself, or else
she might have perceived a certain pathos in that listless journey of a
lonely child from her worse than solitary room to the deadly quiet of the
library. One of the hilarious ghosts who were weaving spells under the
evergreens happened to glance in through a great softly shining window
and recognized the drooping head above a long deserted table between the
shelves of books.

"There's our noble warden," whispered Bea, "studying on Friday night!
Looks like a dig as well as a prig, n'est-ce-pas?"

Berta's eager dark face grew sober under the swathing folds of her
pillow-case. "Maybe it isn't her fault," she said.

But Robbie Belle unaware of this precious drop of sympathy plodded
through an essay on Intellect, wrote out a laborious analysis, and at the
stroke of the nine-thirty gong crept reluctantly back to her room. The
next morning she translated her Latin, committed a geometrical
demonstration to a faithful memory, consumed a silent luncheon amid a
dizzying cross-fire of psychological arguments, walked around the garden,
through the pines and over the orchard hill for a scrupulously full hour
of exercise, read her physiology notes, and composed one page of her
weekly theme before dinner time. After dinner she stood in a corner of
Parlor J and watched the dancing. Then she went to chapel with Miss
Cutter, returned alone in haste to dress in the concealing shee