over,
except a small bronze bust of Voltaire and a life mask of Keats, was a
glazed paper weight in the very cerulean blue she herself was so fond
of. It caught the fading light from the window and shone forth from the
desk like a bit of blue sky.

Molly was sitting in a high back leather chair, which quite hid her from
Judith Blount, who presently, knocking on the door and opening it at the
same moment, entered the room like a hurricane.

"Cousin Edwin, may I come in? I want to ask you something----"

"I can't possibly see you now, Judith. You must wait until to-morrow.
I'm very busy."

"Oh, pshaw!" exclaimed the girl and banged the door as she departed into
the corridor.

What a jarring element she was in all that peaceful stillness! The
muffled noises in the Quadrangle seemed a hundred miles away. Molly
rose and tiptoed to the door.

"He'll be angrier than ever if he should find me here," she thought.
"I'll just get out quietly and explain some other time."

Her hand was already on the doorknob when the Professor wheeled around
and faced her.

"Why, Miss Brown," he exclaimed, "was it you all the time? I might have
known my clumsy brother couldn't have been so quiet."

"Please excuse me," faltered Molly. "I am sure you are very busy. I am
awfully sorry to have disturbed you."

"Nonsense! It's only unimportant things I won't be bothered with, like
the absurd questions Judith thinks up to ask me and Dodo's gossip about
the fellows at Exmoor. But I am well aware that you never waste time. I
suspect you of being one of the busiest little ladies in Wellington."

Molly smiled. Somehow, she liked to be called a "little lady" by this
distinguished professor.

"But your letter that must go by the six mail?"

"That can wait until morning," he said.

He had just said it was to go at six, but, of course, he had a right to
change his mind.

"Sit down and tell me what's the trouble. Have you had bad news from
home?"

"No, it's about Nance," she began, and told him the whole story. "You
see," she finished, "Nance has had so few friends, and she is very fond
of Andy. Because she thinks the accident was her fault, she is just
grieving herself into an awful state."

The Professor sat with his chin resting on his hand.

"Poor little girl!" he said. "And the Doctor and Mrs. McLean are in
almost as bad a state themselves. You know it's just a chance that Andy
will pull through. He has developed pneumonia."

"Oh,