CHAPTER IX.





THE examination-days at Madam Truxton's were over. The long-dreaded
reviews had been passed with credit to both pupils and instructors.
The certificates of scholarship, and the "rewards of merit," had
been given to the fortunate competitors; the long-coveted diplomas
awarded to the expectant "finishing class," and that memorable term
of school life was closed forever. The hour for the event had come.
The grand old drawing-rooms above the assembly hall in the spacious
building were filled to repletion--filled with the patrons and
select guests that were honored with the fastidious Madam's
courtesy. It was an elegant assembly, one characteristic of the
Queen City in her days of unostentatious aristocracy, of gentle-bred
men and women.

Conspicuous among the famed guests were the three-score cadets,
themselves just ready to emerge from college walls and step forth
with triumphant tread upon life's broad opening field.

The "finishing class" numbered more than a score of girls--all young,
some gifted, many beautiful--whose homes were scattered far and wide
through the country; young girls who, for many months, and even
years, had lived and studied and loved together, with all the ardor
and strength of youth. Now they were to be sundered; sundered with