"The Sans have become so exclusive they've nearly effaced themselves from the college map," Jerry remarked to Marjorie several days after their return from the Christmas vacation at home.

"They have had to settle down and do some studying, I presume," was Marjorie's opinion. "They used to be out evenings a good deal oftener than ever we were. I've wondered how they kept up at all."

"Leila said that Miss Vale had been conditioned two or three times, and had to hire a tutor to help pull her through. I notice she doesn't go around with any of the Sans. You remember I spoke of her having changed her seat at table the next day after that fuss up in Miss Cairns' room."

"I have seen her with Miss Walbert a good deal lately. It seems odd, Jeremiah, that, after all the trouble we had with those girls as freshies and sophs, we should be almost free of them this year. It has been such a beautiful, peaceful year, thus far. We've had the gayest, happiest kind of times. If only we could keep Leila, Vera, Kathie and Helen with us next year everything would be perfect."

"Would it? Well, I rather guess so. Gives me the blues every time I stop to think about losing them. Just when we are traveling along so pleasantly, too. Here we are, victorious democrats. We know Miss Susanna, even if we don't dare boast of it. We've been entertained at Hamilton Arms; something President Matthews can't say. You and Robin are successful theatrical managers. Oh, I can tell you, everything is upward striving.

"'Tis as easy now for hearts to be true, As for gra.s.s to be green and skies to be blue.

'Tis the natural way of living"

gayly quoted Marjorie, patting Jerry's plump shoulder in her walk across the room to find a pencil she had mislaid.

"I wish we would hear from Miss Susanna," she continued, a little wistful note in the utterance. "Perhaps she did not like our Christmas remembrance. She doesn't like birthday observances. She loves flowers, though. So she couldn't really regard those we sent her as a present.

And that letter was delightful, I thought. We may have made a mistake in sending the wreath."

The letter to which Marjorie referred was a composite. Each of the nine girls had contributed a paragraph. They had tucked it into a box of long-stemmed red roses which they had selected as a Yule-tide offering to the last of the Hamiltons. With it had gone a laurel wreath, to which was attached a large bunch of double, purple violets. They had asked that the wreath be hung in Brooke Hamilton's study above the oblong which contained the founder's sayings.

"I don't believe Miss Susanna is on her ear at us," observed Jerry inelegantly. "She will write when she feels like it. Maybe she thought it better to postpone writing until she was sure we were all back at college after Christmas. When did you last hear from her?"

"Not since she sent me the money for the tickets for the show. I bought those tickets for her myself. She didn't understand, I guess. I re-mailed the money to her, explaining that they were from me. Since then I have heard not a word from her. I should have taken the tickets back to her instead of mailing them, but I was so busy just then.

Besides, I don't like to go to the Arms without a special invitation."

Almost incident with Marjorie's worry over Miss Susanna's silence came a note from her new friend, appointing an evening for her to dine at Hamilton Arms.

"I am not asking your friends this time," the old lady wrote, "as I prefer to devote my attention to you, dear child. I could not answer the Christmas letter for I had no medium of expression. I loved it, and the flowers. Best of all, was the honor you did Uncle Brooke. You may show this letter to your friends, extending to them a crabbed old person's sincere thanks and good wishes."

Marjorie kept her dinner appointment with Miss Susanna and spent a happy evening with the old lady. Miss Hamilton showed active interest in the subject of the recent revue. The obliging lieutenant had brought with her a programme which the old lady insisted in going over, number by number, inquiring about each performer. She expressed a wish to hear Constance Stevens sing and asked Marjorie to bring Constance to Hamilton Arms if she should again come to Hamilton College.

"I was truly sorry to have missed that show," the last of the Hamiltons frankly confessed. "It would never do for me to set foot on that campus.

I should be on bad terms with myself forever after; on as bad terms as I am with the college."

"I'll tell you what we might do, Miss Hamilton," Marjorie ventured. "We could give a stunt party here, just for you, at some time when it pleased you to have us here. Perhaps Constance would come from New York for a day or two. She isn't so far away. Then Ronny and Vera would dance and Leila sings the most charming ancient Celtic songs."

Her lovely face had grown radiant as she described her chums' talents, and again, for her sake, Miss Susanna had softened toward all girlhood.

She had a.s.sented with only half-concealed eagerness to Marjorie's plan.

Two days after Marjorie's visit to her, she sent her a check for five hundred dollars, asking that it be placed with the money earned from the revue. The youthful managers had charged a dollar apiece for tickets with no reservations. To their intense joy and amus.e.m.e.nt, the gross receipts amounted to six hundred and seventy-two dollars. Their only expenses being for printing and lighting the gymnasium, they had, counting Miss Susanna's gift, a little over one thousand dollars with which to start the beneficiary fund.

Anna Towne had done good work among the girls off the campus. Due to her efforts they had been brought to look upon the new avenue of escape from signal discomfort, now open to them, as an opportunity to be embraced.

Marjorie had said conclusively that the funds at their disposal were to be given, not lent. She argued on the basis that money thus easily gained should be distributed where it would benefit most, then be forgotten. The girls who were struggling along to put themselves through college would have enough to do to earn their living afterward without stepping over the threshold of their chosen work saddled with an obligation.

It took tact, delicacy and more than one friendly argument to establish this theory among the sensitive, proud-spirited girls for whose benefit the project had been carried out. Gradually it gained ground and a new era of things began to spring up for those who had sacrificed so much for the sake of the higher education. The money so easily earned by Ronny's nimble feet, Constance's sweet singing and the talent of the other performers revolutionized matters in the row of cheerless houses, in one of which Anne Towne resided. Ability to pay a higher rate for board brought better food and heat. The drudgery of laundering was lifted, the work being intrusted to several capable laundresses in the vicinity. Those who had kept house abandoned cooking and took their meals at one or another of the boarding houses. According to Anna Towne, the restfulness of the changed way of living was unbelievable.

As successful theatrical managers, Robin and Marjorie had rosy visions of a dormitory built where several of the dingy boarding houses now stood. Perhaps by next year they would have the means to buy the properties. They purposed agitating the subject so strongly, during their senior year, that, at least, a few of the students among the other three cla.s.ses would be willing to go on with the work.

Both had agreed that they had set themselves a hard row to hoe, yet neither would have relinquished the self-imposed task. In the first flush of their ambition they had asked Miss Humphrey to ascertain, if she could, whether the regulations of the college forbade the erection of more houses on the campus. She had returned the answer, that, owing to a peculiar will left by Mr. Brooke Hamilton, the consent to build on the campus would have to come from Miss Hamilton, who had been prejudiced against Hamilton College for many years.

This was a disturbing revelation to Marjorie. She was fairly certain that Miss Susanna would never give any such consent. She therefore promptly abandoned the idea and laid her plans for the outside territory.

As the winter winged away Marjorie made more than one visit to Hamilton Arms. Occasionally her chums accompanied her. The Nine Travelers gave their stunt party at the Arms on Saint Valentine's eve. To please their lonely hostess they dressed in the costumes they intended wearing at the masquerade the next evening. Constance and Harriet managed to get away from the conservatory for three days, and a merry party ate a six o'clock dinner with Miss Susanna so as to have plenty of time for the stunts afterward.

Discreet to the letter, their visits to Hamilton Arms were known to no one outside their own group. Over and over again, when alone with the old lady, she would say to Marjorie: "I had no idea girls could be honorable. I had always considered boys far more honest and loyal."

"You and Miss Susanna Hamilton are getting very chummy, aren't you?"

greeted Jerry, as Marjorie sauntered into their room one clear frosty evening in March, after having had tea at Hamilton Arms.

"I don't know whether we are or not." A tiny pucker decorated Marjorie's forehead. "I always feel a little uncertain of how to take her. She is kindness itself, then, all of a sudden, she turns crotchety and says she hates everything and everybody. Then she generally adds, 'Don't take that to yourself, child.'"

"She thinks a lot of you or she wouldn't be so friendly with you. She looks at you in the most affectionate way. I've noticed it every time we have been to the Arms with you."

"I am glad of it. I was fond of her before I met her. Captain would like her. So would your mother, Jeremiah. Next year when our mothers come to Hamilton to see us graduate, I hope Miss Susanna will like to meet them.

Only one more year after this. Oh, dear! I do love college, don't you?"

Marjorie began removing her hat and coat, an absent look in her brown eyes.

"I have seen worse ranches," Jerry conceded with a grin. "Speaking of ranches reminds me of the West. The West reminds me of Ronny. Ronny promised to help me with my French tonight. Mind if I leave you? Such partings wring the heart; mine I mean. You go galavanting off to tea with no regard for my feelings." Jerry gave a bad imitation of a sob, giggled, and began gathering up her books.

"I'll try to have more consideration for your feelings hereafter,"

Marjorie a.s.sured, a merry twinkle in her eyes.

"I'll believe that when I see signs of reform," Jerry threw back over her shoulder as she exited.

Left alone, Marjorie tried to shut out the memory of Hamilton Arms and settle down to her studying. The fascination the old house held for her remained with her long after she had left it behind her on her now fairly frequent visits there. Nicely launched on the tide of psychology, an uncertain rapping at the door startled her from her absorption of the subject in hand. It flashed across her as she rose to answer the knocking that it had been done by an unfamiliar hand. None of the girls she knew rapped on the door in that weak, hesitating fashion.

As she swung open the door she made no effort to force back the expression of complete astonishment which she knew had appeared on her face. Her caller was Dulcie Vale.

CHAPTER XXIII-AN AMAZING PROPOSAL

"I-are you alone, Miss Dean? I would like to talk with you, but not unless you are alone." Dulcie spoke just above a whisper, peering past Marjorie into the room so far as she could see from where she was standing.

"Yes, I am alone. Miss Macy will not be back for an hour, perhaps. Will you come in, Miss Vale?" Marjorie endeavored to make the invitation courteous. She could not feign cordiality.

"I am glad you are alone." This idea seemed uppermost in Dulcie's mind.

"I know you don't like me, Miss Dean. You haven't any reason to after the way you were treated by the Sans last Saint Valentine's night. Of course, I know you know who we were that night." She paused, as though considering what to say next.

"I saw no faces, but I knew Miss Cairns' and Miss Weyman's voices,"

Marjorie said with a suspicion of stiffness. She was not pleased to hear Dulcie preface her remarks with implied aspersions against the Sans. She knew that the latter had quarreled with her. She guessed that pique might have actuated the call.

"You never told anyone a single thing about it, did you?" The question was close to wistful. It seemed remarkable to Dulcie that Marjorie could have kept the matter secret.

"No." Marjorie shook her head slightly.

"Did your friends ever say a word about it? Those were your friends who burst in on us and made such a noise, weren't they? Who was the one who looked so horrible and blew out the candles?" Dulcie seemed suddenly to give over to curiosity.