or of my inability to manage you properly, will arise if such a complaint is lodged. Of course, you must do as you wish. I’m simply laying the whole matter frankly before you.”
Mrs. Vincent turned abruptly and disappeared into her own room.
“This is a pretty mess!” scolded Katharine.
“It’s mostly your fault!” cried Hazel, looking angrily at Clarice.
“How is it, I’d like to know!” demanded the girl, flushing a dull red, but gazing defiantly at her accuser.
“You did most of the yelling and rough-housing,” retorted Frances promptly.
“I didn’t pile into Ruth’s bed; I didn’t sit beside the back door, singing; I—”
“No,” interrupted Jane soothingly, “I think we all did our share; but—”
“What’s the use of trying to place the blame now?” asked Patricia suddenly. “The question is how to fix things up.”
“We can’t let Dolly down, I suppose,” said Mary slowly. “She is incompetent, and awfully silly at times; but, after all, she is our chaperon and we owe loyalty to her. She might lose her position as the result of the complaint, and we’d hate to be party to taking a job from anyone.”
“Since you all feel that I’m mostly to blame,” broke in Clarice, “I’ll go over to Big House and apologize.”
Almost before she had time to think, Patricia heard herself saying: “And I’ll go with you.”
“You’re a couple of good sports!” cried Jane heartily.
“Is it too late to go now?” asked Patricia, looking at the clock.
“Nearly ten. Better ask Dolly,” advised Anne.
Patricia went to the chaperon’s door, knocked, and when Mrs. Vincent opened it, stated quietly: “Clarice and I are going over to apologize to Mrs. Brock. Shall we go now, or wait until morning?”
“It really doesn’t matter, I suppose; whichever time you prefer,” replied Mrs. Vincent slowly, looking past Patricia to Clarice, who stood leaning against the Black Book table. The girl’s black eyes met hers, and a long, meaning look passed between them.
“We’ll go now, then, and get it over with,” decided Patricia. “Come on, Clarice.”
The two went out of the front door and the rest of the girls gathered in Jane’s room to await results.
“What a day!” sighed Ruth. “I’ll never get up so early again. It brings bad luck. What with the moss adventure this morning, and now this.”
“How did Professor Yates act in class?” asked Hazel, as the rest smiled over the story of the moss, which they had heard earlier in the day.
“Just as usual, except perhaps a little more sarcastic,” began Jane.
“And more generous with puzzling questions, especially to Pats,” broke in Anne.
“Funny they can’t get along together,” mused Mary. “Pat is such a peach of a girl.”
“There’s no rhyme or reason in anything Yates does,” declared Hazel bluntly.
“Pat is a peach,” agreed Anne fervently, “and I think we’re mighty lucky to get her in our Gang.”
“So say we all of us!” chanted Frances softly.
“It seems awfully queer to me, though,” put in Lucile, “for a girl to leave a college voluntarily after a year there, and come away up here where she knows no one, to finish her course.”
“Her aunt and cousin are here,” spoke up Anne, loyally.
“Don’t see them making much fuss over her!” retorted Lucile. “Ted’s been here only two or three times to see her.”
“Ted is a very busy boy.” Anne spoke up promptly. “He’s in Forestry, and that takes him out a lot this year.”
“Come to think of it,” commented Ruth, “I haven’t seen him much at the Frat House.”
“You should know what goes on there,” laughed Katharine, teasingly. “Such luck as you and Jane have—a room right next to—”
“Clarice’s room is even better—or worse,” said Jane; “for hers is opposite the men’s living room.”
“Why worse?” demanded Frances.
“I’ll change rooms with you some night, and let you listen to their blamed radio until the wee small hours, and then again early in the morning, before anybody is up.”
“Speaking of Clarice,” broke in Lucile, “I think there’s something between her and Dolly.”
“What do you mean?” asked Betty quickly.
“Some secret, or understanding, or favoritism, or something,” replied Lucile. “Did none of you see the look they exchanged when Pats told Dolly they’d go?”
“I did,” answered Anne thoughtfully; “it all but talked.”
“There’s some reason why Clarice was moved down here this year, and I’ll bet Dolly was at the root of it,” declared Lucile, emphasizing her words by pounding on the foot of the bed beside which she sat.
“By the way, Lu,” broke in Hazel shyly, “how’s your blond friend? Seen him lately?”
“My blond friend is good!” jeered Lucile.
“Who is he? Who is he?” demanded Mary and Betty in unison. “Why haven’t we ever seen him?”
“My darlings,” said Lucile mockingly, “just because on the day we came back, a good-looking, yellow-haired youth stopped me at the top of the hill to ask where Arnold Hall was, these silly girls imagined I had a date with him.”
“Why should a fellow want Arnold Hall?” demanded Katharine in surprised tones.
“Maybe he has a sweetie here,” proposed Hazel mischievously, looking at Lucile.
“That’s an idea,” replied Lucile, flatly ignoring Hazel’s insinuations; “maybe it’s—Patricia!”
“Oh, no,” contradicted Anne; “she never saw him before the day we came down.” Too late she realized what she had admitted.
“Came down! Oh, then he was on your train. Ah, ha! Now we’re getting at something!” exulted Lucile.
Poor Anne’s fair complexion changed to a bright pink, as she struggled to make her words sound casual.
“He sat across from us, and we happened to notice him because he was so good-looking. We haven’t seen him for a long time.”
“I have,” spoke up Jane; “and
