the ankles clad in grey silk socks, hastily removing themselves from the ledge beside her chair.
“Good Heavens!” she thought, horror-stricken. “I do hope those weren’t the kitten!”
CHAPTER II
ANNE
Swinging her chair sharply about to face the aisle, she met the amused gaze of a red-haired girl of about her own age.
“Tell me,” begged Patricia impulsively, leaning forward, “was I—doing anything—unusual while I was asleep?”
“I’ll say you were,” responded the girl, smiling broadly.
“What?”
“You—you were—stroking the ankles of that young man back of you as if your life depended on it,” choked the stranger.
“No!” cried Patricia, in great distress.
“Yes! Then suddenly you pinched the poor fellow, and I thought I’d just die!”
At that moment the man in question rose and hurried down the aisle toward the smoker. With crimson face, Patricia watched the slight boyish figure, with its crown of smooth yellow hair, disappear before she again addressed her neighbor.
“I’m embarrassed to death! What must he think of me? I can’t apologize for something I didn’t know I was doing; and if I try to explain, it will look as if we were trying to scrape up an acquaintance. What would you do?”
“I’d just let it go, and try to forget it,” advised the other girl, raising up in her chair to lower the shade a little; for the sun was shining full upon her.
“Do you suppose the rest of these people saw me?” persisted Patricia, glancing anxiously around the car.
There were not many other passengers; an old lady, apparently absorbed in a weighty-looking volume; a couple of middle-aged men, with their heads close together, evidently discussing some important question; a young mother, absorbed in the baby in her arms; and a scared-looking, awkward girl, who gazed moodily out of the window, occasionally munching a chocolate from a box in her lap.
“I don’t think so,” replied the red-haired girl, settling herself anew in her chair, and smoothing out the skirt of her dark green suit. “I probably shouldn’t have, if I hadn’t been watching you.”
“Watching me?” repeated Patricia, opening her brown eyes very wide in surprise.
“Yes; and wondering if by any chance you were going to Granard College.”
“I am, but what in the world made you think so?”
“Oh, you looked like a college girl, some way, and then being on this train, which, this time of year, is a favorite one for the Granard students. Don’t know where they all are today, though. Are you just entering?”
“Yes, and no,” laughed Patricia. “I did my Freshman work at Brentwood; so I’m entering the Soph class here.”
“Congratulations! Welcome to the class of 19—. I’m one of your classmates-to-be. Anne Ford, at your service.”
“My name is Patricia Randall, and I’m very glad to get acquainted with some one before I get to Granard. I confess I have stage fright at the prospect of meeting so many strangers.”
“Don’t let that bother you. The girls are easy to get on with, and you’ll soon feel as if you’d always been at Granard,” said Anne carelessly.
Patricia realized, however, that it would not be quite so simple to break into a class whose cliques and customs had had a whole year’s start before she came on the scene.
“How did you happen to choose Granard?” inquired Anne curiously. “Do you know anyone there?”
“My cousin,” replied Patricia, breathing a prayer of thanks for the second question which enabled her to disregard the first. “Ted Carter; do you know him?”
“Ted Carter! I should say I do!” exclaimed Anne, adding, quickly and somewhat possessively, “Ted’s my best boy friend.”
“How nice!” commented Patricia so heartily that all the suspicions which had arisen in Anne’s mind as to possible claims on the fascinating Teddy were promptly allayed.
“Come on over here,” suggested Anne, turning a vacant chair to face her; “and we’ll have a cozy chat.”
Patricia gladly accepted the invitation, and as she settled herself with one foot tucked under her, a habit whenever she wished to be especially comfortable, Anne asked:
“Do you know yet where you’re to room?”
“Yes; Arnold Hall.”
“You are?” exclaimed Anne, gazing at Patricia in astonishment. “You certainly must have some pull.”
“Why?” inquired Patricia, in a puzzled tone.
“Because Arnold Hall’s the best dorm at Granard, and there’s always a waiting list for it. You’re a lucky girl to be able to break right into it. My reservation was made while I was still in high school.”
“Oh, then you live there? I’m so glad!” There was no mistaking the note of gratification in Patricia’s tone, nor the admiring gaze of her brown eyes which rested somewhat shyly upon her new acquaintance.
Anne smiled in the manner of one who is so accustomed to being popular that it has long ceased to be exciting. There was something unusual about this new girl, evidently, or old Hattersley would never have let her get into Arnold Hall. It evidently wasn’t money; for though Patricia’s clothes were in good taste, they were not expensive. She had no friends there, except her cousin. Perhaps it was scholarship, or some powerful influence from Brentwood or high school.
Patricia, meanwhile, was wondering what Anne would say if she were to tell her that when Dad had written for a room for Patricia, the registrar, somebody by the name of Hattersley, had promptly replied that one had already been reserved for her in Arnold Hall. They had speculated on the strange fact for days, and had been forced to leave the mystery unsolved, just as they had the arrival of the check.
“Do you know Aunt Betsy?” inquired Patricia, presently.
“Not personally,” replied Anne, smiling broadly; “but I’ve heard of her.”
“I’ll warrant you have,” giggled Patricia. “She’s as good as gold, but most awfully funny. You never know what she’s going to say or do next. We say she has only three interests: Ted, and Ted, and Ted. They used to live near us in Brentwood, but when my cousin won a scholarship at Granard, she rented her house and took an apartment down here so she could give Ted all the comforts of home during his course. She meant well, of course; but I feel sort of sorry for Ted. I fancy he’d rather be a bit freer. One night during his Freshman year he stayed out to dinner and for the evening without telling her; so she ran all over the campus looking for him, quite sure that the terrible Sophs had imprisoned him somewhere.”
“I have heard that story,” laughed Anne. “He was at the Zeta Omega House—that’s right next to Arnold
