at Judith's lack of
feeling, "doesn't she need you now more than ever?"

"Why?" demanded Judith suspiciously. "What do you know of my affairs?"

"I happen to know a great deal," answered Molly, "since they have a good
deal to do with my own affairs."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Now, Judith," went on Molly, "this is Christmas and we won't quarrel
about our misfortunes. Whatever mine are, it's not your fault. I'm
gathering some holly to decorate for Otoyo and me. Won't you help me?"

"No, thanks," answered the other coldly. "I don't feel much like
Christmas this year," she burst out, after a pause. "I'm seeing my last
of college now, unless I choose to stay under certain conditions--and I
won't--I won't," she repeated, stamping her foot fiercely on the frozen
earth, which gave out a rhythmic sound under the blow. "Queen's is bad
enough, but if I am to descend to a room over the post-office after this
semester, I'd--I'd rather die!" she added furiously.

"We're in the same box," thought Molly. "I can appreciate how she feels,
poor soul. I was just about as bad myself at first."

"Do you blame me?" went on the unhappy Judith. "Through no fault of mine
I've had troubles heaped on me all winter--first one and then another. I
have had to suffer for another person's sins; to be crushed into a
nobody; taken from my rightful place and shoved off first into one
miserable little hole and then another. I tell you I don't think it's
fair--it's unkind--it's cruel!"

Molly was not accustomed to hear people pity themselves. She had been
brought up to regard it as an evidence of cowardice and low breeding.

"I've just about made up my mind," continued Judith, "to chuck the whole
thing and go on the stage. I can sing and dance, and I believe I could
get into almost any chorus. Richard, of course, wouldn't hear of my
taking part in his new opera and he could arrange it just as easily as
not, but he doesn't approve and neither does mamma. But it would be less
humiliating than this." She pointed to Wellington.

"But Judith, it would be a great deal more humiliating," ejaculated
Molly. "You would be fussed with and scolded, and you'd hear horrid
language, and live in wretched hotels and boarding houses a great deal
worse than the rooms over the post-office!"

It was very little Molly knew about chorus girl life, but that little
she now turned to good account.

"You would have to travel a lot on smoky, uncomfortable trains and sta