er. Don't come down this evening."

But when the girls returned some hours later with a tray of food, Nance
had gone to bed and turned her face to the wall, and she refused to eat
a morsel. All next day it was the same. Nance remained in bed,
ruthlessly cutting lessons and refusing to take anything but a cup of
soup at lunch time. The girls called at Dr. McLean's to inquire for
Andy and found that his condition was much the same. Nance's condition
was the same, too. She turned a deaf ear to all their arguments and
declined to be reasoned with.

"She can't lie there forever," Judy exclaimed at last.

"But what are we to do, Judy?" Molly asked. "She's just nursing her
troubles until she'll go into melancholia! I would go to Mrs. McLean,
but she won't see anyone and the doctor is too unhappy to listen. I
tried to tell him about Nance and he didn't hear a word I was saying. I
didn't realize how much they adored Andy."

Judy could offer no suggestion and Molly went off to the Library to
think.

It occurred to her that Professor Green might give her some advice. He
knew all about the friendship between Nance and Andy, and, besides, he
had interested himself once before in Nance's troubles when he arranged
for her to go to the McLeans' supper party the year before. Molly
glanced at the clock. It was nearly half-past four.

"He'll probably be in his little cloister study right now," she said to
herself, and in three minutes she was rapping on the oak door in the
corridor marked "E. Green."

"Come in," called the Professor.

He was sitting at his study table, his back turned to her, writing
busily.

"You're late, Dodo," he continued, without looking up. "I expected you
in time for lunch. Sit down and wait. I can't stop now. Don't speak to
me for fifteen minutes. I'm finishing something that must go by the six
o'clock mail."

Molly sank into the depths of the nearest chair while the Professor's
pen scratched up and down monotonously. Not since the famous night of
her Freshman year when she was locked in the cloisters had she been in
the Professor's sanctum, and she looked about her with much curiosity.

"I wish I had one just like it," she thought. "It's so peaceful and
quiet, just the place to work in and write books on 'The Elizabethan
Drama,' and lyric poetry, and comic operas----"

There was a nice leathery smell in the atmosphere of book bindings
mingled with tobacco smoke, and the only ornament she could disc