and serenely. No matter what was said to her, or done in
her presence, that smile came to her. Her placidity was exceedingly
annoying to this set of girls. "If Jo was not always so sugary sweet,"
was the general complaint. "If she would not always agree to everything.
If only now and then she would express an opinion, one would know at
least that she had formed one." These were the only complaints ever made
against her.

"Has something been troubling you?" she asked Helen. "You appear quite
disturbed."

"I am. I lost a pin." Helen told how she had placed it that evening she
had last worn it, and how it had mysteriously disappeared. Both Jo and
Renee had seen the heirloom, for Helen had worn it at intervals since
she had entered the hall.

"I'd advertise for it. You might have dropped it in the hall somewhere.
Have Doctor Weldon announce it in chapel; and put a notice on the
bulletin board in the main hall." It was Renee who made the practical
suggestion.

"I'm sure I did not lose it outside this room. I am quite sure of that."

"About as sure as one can be of anything. I've noticed, however, that
being sure is no proof."

"What a loss it must be to you!" cried Jo softly. "Of course, the money
value is of little consideration. It is the memories which cling to it
which make it precious. I know how you feel about such matters. You have
so much sentiment. I know what trifles may mean to one. I always wear
this little chain. I have worn it since I was three years old. I never
could bear to part with it. It seems a tie to bind me to my childhood. I
feel as though I could never grow old while I wear it. I shall never
take it off."

Renee shrugged her shoulders. "I'm glad you don't have the same
sentiment toward your collars. What a beautiful sentiment you might
conjure up about a waist which some dear departed chum had embroidered
for you; or perhaps she buttoned it up the back the first time you wore
it and died immediately afterward. I really think the last would be most
touching. Then you would feel that you could never unbutton the buttons
which her dear hands had buttoned."

The irony in Renee's voice was strong. While she had been speaking, she
arose and moved toward the door.

Hester's face had flushed. She feared that Josephine would be angry.
Erma, however, laughed merrily, and smiled and fluttered about like a
gay butterfly. She thought Renee's sarcasm was the finest wit in the
world. If it had been dir