Worse yet, the story on which she had staked her hopes had come back from
Miss Raymond, with a few words of perfunctory, non-committal criticism.
Miss Raymond had not read it to her class, much less sent the "Argus"
editors after it.

"Does she know, too?" questioned Eleanor. "Does she think that because
I've cheated once I can't ever be trusted again, or is it just my luck to
have them all notice the one thing I didn't write and let alone the
things I do?"

It was two weeks since Mr. Blake's lecture, and in that time she had
accomplished nothing of all that she had intended. Her idea had been to
begin over--to blot out the fact that once she had not played fair, and
starting on a clean sheet, repeat her triumph and prove to herself and
other people that her position in college affairs was no higher than she
deserved. But so far she had proved nothing, and every day the
difficulties of her position increased. It was almost more than she could
manage, to treat the girls whom she suspected of knowing her secret with
exactly her accustomed manner. She had not been able to verify her
suspicions except in the case of Beatrice Egerton. There was no doubt
about her. When the two were alone together she scarcely took pains to
conceal her knowledge, and her covert hints had driven Eleanor into more
than one outburst of resentment which she bitterly regretted when it was
too late. It was absolutely impossible to tell about Betty. "She treats
me exactly as she did when Jim was here," reflected Eleanor, "and just as
she did last year, for that matter. If she doesn't know it's no
particular credit to her, and if she does--" Eleanor could not bear the
idea of receiving kindness from people who must despise her.

Jean ran on to the gym., shivering in her thin dress, and muttering