"There's the cla.s.s president," one of them said to a friend who had arrived, only that afternoon.

"Which?"

"That tall girl in pale green at the left. She's in the fourth, fifth, sixth row; and a tall, gray-haired man is with her, and a young man the other side."

"Looking this way now?"

"Yes. I don't see anything so remarkable about her; but they say she's one of the most popular girls they've ever had here."

"That is saying a good deal," her companion answered loyally, as she raised her lorgnette.

"They wanted her for ivy poet, but she couldn't be everything. She's cla.s.s poet, though, and was Portia in the dramatics, Sat.u.r.day night."

"What's her name?"

"McAlister. Theodora McAlister. She looks it, too; but these soulless girls all call her Teddy."

"McAlister? That is the name of the girl who made such a record in basket ball, when I was up here, last winter. They had a song in her honor."

"Probably it's the same one. My cousin says she is very all-round. All the under-cla.s.s girls adore her, and they say she'll be heard from, some day. Did you say Edith Avery is back?"

Theodora, meanwhile, had settled her guests comfortably to listen to the concert. They were all there, Dr. McAlister and his wife, Hope and Hubert, Phebe and Allyn, and the Farringtons. Among so many girls, Hope, in her pretty pink gown, was quite capable of holding her own; and Billy and Hubert were in such demand that, all that day, Theodora had scarcely had a chance to exchange a word with them. It was just as well, however, for the girl's hands were full, with the active part which her offices had imposed upon her.

During the whole week, she had borne her part admirably. When she came out on the stage for the first time, on Sat.u.r.day night, she had faltered. For a moment, the sea of upturned faces had terrified her, and she could distinguish nothing but a formless blur. Then, all at once, Billy's red-gold hair and clear blue eyes had detached themselves and caught her attention, and she flashed upon him one glance, half proud, half appealing. He smiled back at her broadly and waved his programme.

An instant later, she was speaking her opening lines.

She had led the baccalaureate procession; she had presided at the ivy exercises, that morning; and to-night, at the reception which followed the glee club concert, she was expected to show herself in her official capacity. The next day, she would lead her cla.s.s in the commencement procession, and preside at the cla.s.s supper. No wonder that she was tired, and that dark circles were beginning to come beneath her eyes.

Popularity has its price, though it is a price well worth the paying. It had come to her unsought, unexpected, and she enjoyed it. Still, she was undeniably tired. She was glad for the moment to settle down on the bench, unnoticed in the crowd, with her father's arm across her shoulder and Hubert by her other side.

"Tired out, Ted?" her father asked tenderly, as she nestled against him, regardless of her finery.

"Oh, no; only glad of a chance to see my people. I have been in such a whirl, all the week, that I feel as if I had neglected you."

"We haven't suffered, and you'll rest from the whirl. You can't be graduated but once, my girl, and I want you to have the best of it," he said proudly. "Next year, you will be with us again, so don't worry about us now."

"You'd better sit up straight, Teddy," Phebe said, bending forward and speaking in an aggressively audible whisper. "You're leaning against your dress, and that thin stuff crushes awfully. Do be careful."

"Never mind," Theodora answered, with a lazy disregard of her fluffy sea of pale green chiffon. "Papa and I shall never be here again just like this, and I mean to have the good of him."

They lingered there until the concert was over and the tide was turning towards the Art Gallery. Then she rose reluctantly, and shook out her gown.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'GIVE ME MY FAN AND GLOVES, HU,' SHE SAID."]

"Give me my fan and my gloves, Hu," she said. "I must fly to my post.

I'd much rather stay here."

As she turned away, a young man abruptly took leave of two juniors, and went hurrying after her. He was tall and alert, yet he walked with a certain stiffness, which gave an almost military erectness to his carriage.

"The Philistines be upon me, Ted! Do save me!"

She turned back to meet him.

"What is the matter, Billy? I thought you looked content while the concert was going on."

"Content! I'm distracted. I've been introduced to seven thousand girls.

They all look alike, and I can't tell 'em from those I don't know."

"Smile on them all, Billy. You're equal to it."

"But I don't want 'em. I came here to see you, not Miss Swift of Chicago."

"You don't appreciate your advantages, Billy," she said, laughing, as they went together up the steps of the Art Gallery.

"Maybe not. I appreciate you, though, and I sail, in ten days. When shall you be off duty again?"

She looked down at the throng already streaming up the steps behind them.

"Come and rescue me at half-past nine, Billy, unless you find Miss Swift of Chicago a more potent attraction."

"Trust me!" And he vanished.

For more than an hour, the stream of people flowed past her. Everywhere was the swish of countless gowns, the low murmur of countless voices.

Every one was there, not only the seniors and their friends, but the girls of the under cla.s.ses, with here and there a wide-eyed, wondering sub-freshman. Faculty hobn.o.bbed with soph.o.m.ores, and the alumnae pervaded all things and were in their glory. It was a pretty picture, backed as it was by the dull-hued walls and fine statuary of the gallery; and Theodora glanced about her in contented pride, to see if any of her friends were near and enjoying this crowning glory of her Alma Mater.

Ten feet away, Mrs. McAlister was discussing football with the brother of one of the seniors, a boy too young to have any real share in the evening's pleasure. Not far off, Dr. McAlister was contentedly ruffling up his hair, while he monopolized the attention of a prominent professor, who appeared altogether unconscious of the pa.s.sing moments and of the crowd of alumnae waiting for a word. Theodora smiled to herself, as she caught an occasional phrase,--

"All the bromides--Grand antiseptic qualities--Your essay in the last review."

Out on the stairs, Hope was in the midst of a gay crowd; and, quite at the other side of the building, Hubert sat on the pedestal of the Dying Gaul, with one arm thrown across the neck of the statue, while he talked to the pretty young girl perched at his side.

Punctual to the moment, Billy appeared.

"Now let's get out of this," he said abruptly.

"Aren't you having a good time?" she questioned, with a little hurt tone.

"Yes, fine. I struck some Cleveland girls; they're always pretty. But now I want a breath of fresh air and a little sensible conversation.

Come along."

"Where?"

"Anywhere, as long as it's quiet."

She laughed, as she handed him her fan.

"I believe you're tired before I am, Billy."

"No; only I do want a little chance to see you. It's not as if I were going to be at home, this summer."