"Did you meet her?" asked Grace, who, seated on the bed beside Anne,
watched Miriam's unpacking with interested eyes.

"No," replied Miriam. "One of the freshmen at the table told me about
her. She said that the poor girl cried all day yesterday and last night.
She didn't dare write her father, who, it seems, is very severe, that
she had failed. He won't know she's coming until she reaches home."

"What a pity," said Anne sympathetically. "It must be dreadful to fail
and know that one must face not only the humility of the failure, but
the displeasure of one's family too."

"If I had failed in my examinations neither Father nor Mother would have
said one reproachful word," said Grace.

"Of course I'm sorry for her," said Miriam, "but considering the fact
that I am now going to room alone, I shall write to Mother and ask her
to send me the money to furnish this room as I please. I'd like to have
a davenport bed, and I want a chiffonier and a dressing table to match.
There's room here for a piano, too. I'll have it over in this corner and
then I'll----"

Rap, rap, rap! sounded on the door.

"Come in," called Miriam frowning at the interruption.

The door opened to admit Mrs. Elwood, and following in her wake, laden
with a bag and two suit cases, her hat pushed over her eyes, a
half-suspicious, half-belligerent expression on her face, was J. Elfreda