“How can Rosalind do them? I am awfully sorry— indeed, I am disgusted— but the facts are too plain.” Miss Day then in a few eager whispers, which Maggie in vain endeavored to suppress, gave her chain of evidence. Rosalind’s distress; her passionate desire to keep the coral; her entreaties that Miss Day would lend her four guineas; her assurances that she had not a penny in the world to pay her debt; her fears that it was utterly useless for her to expect the money from her mother. Then the curious fact that, on the very same evening, Polly Singleton should have been given a five-pound note by her. “There is not the least doubt,” concluded Miss Day, “that Rosalind must have gone into your room, Miss Oliphant, and stolen the note while Priscilla was absent. You know Miss Peel said that she did leave your room for a moment or two to fetch her Lexicon. Rosalind must have seized the opportunity; there cannot be a doubt of it.” Maggie’s face turned white; her eyes were full of indignation and horror. “Something must be done,” continued Annie. “I am no prude, but I draw the line at thieves. Miss Merton ought to be expelled; she is not fit to speak to one of us.” “The affair is mine,” said Maggie after a pause. “You must let me deal with it.” “Will you?” “I certainly will.” “To-night?” “I cannot say. I must think. The whole thing is terrible, it upsets me.” “I thought you would feel it. I am a good bit upset myself and so is Lucy Marsh.” “Does Miss Marsh know, too? In that case, Miss Day, it will, I fear, be my duty to consult Miss Heath. Oh, I must think; I can do nothing hastily. Please, Miss Day, keep your own counsel for the present, and ask Miss Marsh to do the same.” Annie Day ran off, and Maggie stood by the open window looking out at the starry night. Her head ached; her pulses beat; she felt sick and tired. The noise and laughter which filled the gaily thronged rooms were all discordant to her— she wished she had not come. A voice close by made her start— a hand not only clasped hers, but held it firmly for a moment. She looked up and said with a sudden impulse, “Oh, Geoffrey! I am glad you are here.” Then, with a burning blush, she withdrew her hand from Hammond’s. “Can I help you?” he asked. His heart was beating fast; her words were tingling in his ears, but his tone was quiet. “Can I help you?” he repeated. “Here is a seat.” He pulled a chair from behind a curtain, and Maggie dropped into it. “Something is wrong,” she said; “something dreadful has happened.” “May I know what it is?” “I don’t think I have any right to tell you. It is connected with the college; but it has given me a blow, and I was tired beforehand. I came here against my will, and now I don’t want to talk to any one.” “That can be easily managed. I will stand here and keep off all intruders.” “Thank you.” Maggie put her hand to her forehead.