A ripple of laughter went over the entire house. There was another burst of applause which again brought Miss Molly Brown of Kentucky into prominence through no fault of her own.

The card on the magnificent basket of roses made known to her the fact that Miss Millicent Porter had thus honored her. The card on the violets merely said: "From a crusty old critic who believes in your success."

"I thought Millicent Porter had a big crush on you," observed Margaret later in the green room. "There's no doubt about it now after this n.o.ble tribute."

"Nonsense," said Molly. "It's because she has so much money and likes to spend it."

"On herself, yes, buying clothes and big lumps of silver to play with; but not on you, Molly, dear, unless she had been greatly taken with your charms."

Molly had seen a few college crushes and considered them absurd, a kind of idol worship by a young girl for an older one; but because she had been so closely with her own small circle, she had escaped a crush so far.

"I'll never believe it," she said. "I'm much too humble a person to be admired by such a grand young lady. She sent the roses because she had to recall her invitation to dinner."

"Only time will prove it, Miss Molly," answered Margaret.

The play ended with a grand storm of applause and college yells. Not in their wildest dreams had the juniors hoped for such success.

"It's difficult to tell who was the best, they were all so excellent,"

the president was reported to have said.

Finally, to satisfy the persistent mult.i.tude, each actor marched slowly in front of the curtain, and each was received with more or less enthusiasm.

"Rah-rah-rah; rah-rah-rah; Wellington--Wellington--Margaret Wakefield,"

they yelled; or "What's the matter with Molly Brown? She's all right.

Molly--Molly--Molly Brown."

In the intoxicating excitement of this fifteen minutes n.o.body realized that Judy had withdrawn from the group of actors and hidden herself away somewhere behind the scenery. There was some speculation in the audience as to why Viola had not filed across the stage with the others, but since Judy's really devoted friends were all behind the scenes, there was no one to bring her out unless she chose to show herself with the others.

"Wasn't it simply grand?" cried Jessie, the last to taste the sweets of popularity. The hall was still ringing with:

"Jessie--Jessie--she's all right!" when she bowed herself behind the curtain and joined her cla.s.smates in the green room. Then there came cries of:

"Speech! Speech! Wakefield! Wakefield!"

Margaret, as composed as a May morning, stepped to the front of the platform and gave one of her most appropriate addresses to the joy of the audience and the intense amus.e.m.e.nt of the faculty.

"Think of that child, only eighteen, and making such a speech! They are certainly a remarkable group of girls. So much individuality among them," said Miss Walker to Miss Pomeroy, at her side.

"And rare charm in some of the individuals," added Miss Pomeroy. "The little Brown girl, for instance, who, by the way, is as tall as I am, but so thin that she seems small, has magnetism that will carry her through many a difficulty in life. They tell me she is almost adored by her friends."

In the meantime the juniors, entirely unconscious of these compliments from high places, and perhaps it was quite as well they were, had just missed Judy from their midst.

"Didn't she go before the curtain with the rest of us?" some one asked.

"But how strange, when she had the leading part."

"I thought I heard them give her the yell."

"Judy, Judy," called Molly.

"Here I am," answered a m.u.f.fled voice from behind the scenery.

Presently Judy appeared, showing a face so white and tragic that her friends were shocked. With a tactful instinct most of the girls hurriedly gathered their things together and disappeared, leaving only the intimates in the green room.

"Why, Judy, dearest, why did you hide yourself, and you the leading lady of the company?" exclaimed Molly reproachfully, when all outsiders had departed.

"Don't flatter me, Molly," Judy answered, in a hard, strained voice.

"But you were," said Molly, "and you acted beautifully."

"I ruined the play," said Judy angrily. "I ruined the entire business, and you made me do it."

"Oh, Judy," cried Molly, "you are talking wildly. What do you mean?"

"You did. You upset me completely when you said: 'don't be so dictatorial.' I never heard you make a speech like that before. And just as I was about to go on, too. It was cruel. It was unkind. If it had come from any one else but you----"

"Here--here," broke in Margaret. "Really, Judy, you're losing your temper."

"She never said it, anyhow," cried Nance. "I said it myself."

"She did say it, Nance. You're just trying to screen her," replied Judy, who had worked herself into a nervous rage.

"Is this going to be a free fight?" asked Edith, who always enjoyed battles.

Molly was gathering up her things.

"Not as far as I am concerned," she answered, in a trembling voice.

As she went out she looked sorrowfully back at Judy, but not another word did she say.

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Judy Kean?" cried Nance. "You're jealous and that's the whole of it," and she flung herself out of the door after Molly. The others quickly followed. Certainly sympathy was against Judy.

And what of poor Judy left all alone in the gymnasium?

Torn with anger, remorse, jealousy and disappointment, she threw herself face downward on the empty stage.

Presently the janitor came in and switched off the lights.

CHAPTER VII.

A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE.

Molly and Nance had little to say to each other that night as they undressed for bed. Nance was still filled with hot indignation over Judy's "falling-off" as she called it, and Molly had no heart for conversation. The door to Judy's bedroom at the other end of the sitting room was closed and they were not surprised when she did not call "good night" as was her custom. n.o.body looked in on them. It was late and the Quadrangle was soon perfectly still.

Under the sheets, her head buried in the pillows, Molly cried a long time, softly and quietly, like a steady downpour of rain. It seemed somehow that her beloved friend, Judy, had died, and that she was grieving for her. At last, worn out, she fell asleep. It was a very heavy sleep. She felt as if her arms were tied and she was sinking down into s.p.a.ce and, as is always the case with dreams of falling, she waked with a nervous leap as if her body had hit the bed and rebounded. As she fell she had dreamed that she heard a voice calling. Never mind what it said; already the word, whatever it was, was a mere pin point in her memory. It had flashed through her mind like a shooting star across the sky. It was brilliantly illuminating for the instant. Molly was sure that it meant a great deal. It was an important word, and it had an urgent significance. For the tenth of a second her mind had been wide awake, and now it was quite dark again.