In bathrobe and slippers Judith soon followed Jane down the long
hall. Neither dallied long in the plunge, for Judith was wide awake
now, and presently, after dressing and patting herself and
belongings into place, she confronted Jane with this: "I heard Dozia
Dalton last night. And I know there will be trouble about the farmer
girl. Jane, tell me, is she the scholarship?"

"Yes," almost gasped Jane the irreproachable. "And to think that I,
in any way, should be responsible for bringing her to college!"

"But you are not, Janie dear," soothed Judith. "That your father
should give this college a scholarship each year is a noble thing,
and how can you tell who may win it? That girl is--well, a bit raw,"
she ground her mouth around the word, "but we have nothing to do
with that. She doesn't belong among the juniors, and just leave it
to little Judy to steer her off. Don't go trying any uplift; just
cut her dead and watch her wilt. From the ashes there may arise a
nice little green thing, even if it is of the common garden variety
of onion. Now Jane, you have got to do exactly that. Keep Shirley
Duncan on her own grounds. Shoo her out of junior haunts."

"You are right, Judy. I have been tortured with the idea that I
would have to play fairy godmother to that--that 'hoodlum.'
Honestly, did you ever see so ordinary a girl in Wellington?"

"Never. But then she may be a genius. I have read such descriptions
of them. There's the first breakfast bell. Smile now and disappoint
the horde. They think you have been crossed in love and the old maid
depression has settled upon you. You acted that way yesterday,"