ronger, so that it was almost certain that she would
come to Vassar in the summer and see her friend graduated.

Such was the state of affairs when Nina repeated to Jerrie what Harold
had said to her at the musicale the previous winter. All day long there
was a note of gladness in Jerrie's heart which manifested itself in
snatches of song, and low, warbling, whistled notes, which sounded more
as if they came from a canary's than from a human throat. Jerrie did
_not_ chew gum, but she whistled, and the teachers who reproved her most
for what they called a boyish trick, always listened intently, when the
clear, musical notes, now soft and low, now loud and shrill, were heard
outside, or in the building.

'Whistling Jerrie,' the girls sometimes called her, but she rather liked
the name, and whistled on whenever she felt like it.

And it was a very joyous, happy song she trilled, as she thought of
Harold's compliment, and wished she might wear at commencement the dress
of baby-blue which he had admired, for Harold would, of course, be there
to see and hear, and as, when he wrote his valedictory two years before
there had been in every line a thought of her, so in her essay, which
was peculiarly German in its method and handling, thoughts of Harold had
been closely interwoven. She knew she should receive a surfeit of
applause--she always did; but if Harold's were wanting the whole thing
would be a failure. So she wrote him twice a week, urging him to come,
and he always replied that nothing but necessity would keep him from
doing so.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE TWO FACES IN THE MIRROR.

Toward the last of May Arthur came to Vassar, bringing with him the
graduating dress which he had bought in New York, with Maude as his
adviser. He had Jerrie at the hotel to spend Saturday and Sunday with
him, and took her to drive and to shop, and then in the evening asked
her to put on her finery, that he might see how it looked.

'I shall not come to hear you spout out your erudition,' he said, 'for I
detest crowds, with the dreadful smell of the rooms. I have gotten the
park house tolerably free from odors, though the cook's drain is
terrible at times, and I shall have brimstone burned in the cellar once
a week. But what was I saying? Oh, I know--I shall not be here at
commencement, and I wish to see if my Cherry is likely to look as well
as any of them.'

So Jerrie left him alone while she donned the white dress, which fell in