buildings beyond. Beth was beginning to love the place.

We must not pause long over that first year that Beth spent at 'Varsity.
It passed like a flash to her, the days were so constantly occupied. But
her memory was being stored with scenes she never forgot. It was so
refreshing on the brisk, autumn mornings to walk to lectures through
the crimson and yellow leaves of Queen's Park: and, later in the year,
when the snow was falling she liked to listen to the rooks cawing among
the pines behind the library. Sometimes, too, she walked home alone in
the weird, winter twilight from the Modern Language Club, or from a late
lecture, her mind all aglow with new thoughts. Then there were the
social evenings in the gymnasium, with its red, blue and white
decorations, palms and promenades, and music of the orchestra, and hum
of strange voices. It was all new to Beth; she had seen so little of the
world. There was the reception the Y.W.C.A. gave to the
"freshettes"--she enjoyed that, too. What kind girls they were! Beth was
not slow to decide that the "'Varsity maid" would make a model wife, so
gentle and kindly and with such a broad, progressive mind. Still Beth
made hardly any friendships worthy of the name that first year. She was
peculiar in this respect. In a crowd of girls she was apt to like all,
but to love none truly. When she did make friends she came upon them
suddenly, by a sort of instinct, as in the case of Marie, and became so
absorbed in them she forgot everyone else. This friendship with Marie
was another feature of her present life that pleased her. She had
dropped out of Sunday-school work. She thought city Sunday-schools
chilly, and she spent many a Sunday afternoon in Marie's room. She liked
to sit there in the rocker by the grate fire, and listen to Marie talk
as she reclined in the cushions, with her dark, picturesque face. They
talked of love and life and books and music, and the world and its ways,
for Marie was clever and thoughtful. In after years Beth looked back on