"Don't you think," interposed Edith, "that the personal romance of our lives takes the place of all impersonal romance of that sort in time?" "Perhaps," assented Evelyn slowly, "but it is the one romance that hasn't to rub up against realities. We lived there in a world of our own creation--a land of dreams. Our dreams for Bryn Mawr may always be realized; they are never shown to be impossible." "Well, really," exclaimed Louise, "you seem to be getting very high falutin, all of you. My feeling about college is that if it hadn't been for my friends it would have been a hateful place--all hard work and nothing else. It's the friendships you make there that count." "To be sure they count," said Edith, "but you might say the same of boarding-school. I know what it is. It's the student government." "Now just listen to that," cried Ellen, "you're as bad as other people, you don't agree at all. You, Edith, talk of self-government, but that isn't general. And I can't tie myself down to Bryn Mawr. We all think Bryn Mawr the best of----" "Twenty years hence this weather May tempt us from office stools; We may be slow on the feather, And seem to the boys old fools. But we'll still swing together And swear by the best of schools," sang a merry voice in the doorway and with one accord the girls sprang to their feet to welcome the singer. But she continued serenely,--"The same idea may be found in the lines of another well-known song: "'When the cares of life o'ertake us--'" The last lines were lost in the vehemence with which Ellen and Edith greeted the newcomer. "You piece of absurdity," urged Edith impatiently, "stop your mimicry and tell us how you got here." "Without adventure, my excitable Edith, till I came upon this strange gathering, perhaps the strangest gathering ever known to the scientist,--for as Leuwenhoek says----" The change of voice in the last words, and the immediate response from her listeners showed a traditional joke. But she went on immediately, "I'm on my way to Bryn Mawr and I dropped in to remind you that you've all promised to bear me company. I was afraid you might forget. A trip there from Philadelphia is less of an undertaking than one from Emmonsville, Montana. And I'm going to pass the night with you, fair Ellen. I wrote to you warning you of my intention about two weeks ago. My trunk is already at your house, and I have been there; but was sent to bring you home. Your mother was afraid you would forget you were to dine with Mrs. Boughton and help her with a Dean or a Bishop,--something architectural and impressive." "I had forgotten all about it and I haven't a minute to lose," said Ellen, as she and Marjorie hurried off amid the protests of the others.