“Well, when Annabel died, people said that Maggie had more cause than any one else to be sorry. I never could find out what that cause was; but the servants spread some reports. They said they had found Maggie and Annabel together; Annabel had fainted; and Maggie was in an awful state of misery— in quite an unnatural state, they said; she went into hysterics, and Miss Heath was sent for, and was a long time soothing her. There was no apparent reason for this, although, somehow or other, little whispers got abroad that the mystery of Annabel’s illness and Maggie’s distress was connected with Geoffrey Hammond. Of course, nothing was known, and nothing is known; but, certainly, the little whisper got into the air. Dear me, Rosalind, you need not eat me with your eyes. I am repeating mere conjectures, and it is highly probable that not the slightest notice would have been taken of this little rumor but for the tragedy which immediately followed. Annabel, who had been as gay and well as any one at breakfast that morning, was never seen in the college again. She was unconscious, the servants said, for a long time, and when she awoke was in high fever. She was removed to the hospital, and Maggie had seen the last of her friend. Poor Annabel died in two days, and afterward Maggie took the fever. Yes, she has been quite changed since then. She always had moods, as she called them, but not like now. Sometimes I think she is almost flighty.” Rosalind was silent. After a while she said in a prim little voice, which she adopted now and then when she wanted to conceal her real feelings: “But I do wonder what the quarrel was about— I mean, what really happened between Annabel and Maggie.” “Look here, Rosalind, have I said anything about a quarrel? Please remember that the whole thing is conjecture from beginning to end, and don’t go all over the place spreading stories and making mischief. I have told you this in confidence, so don’t forget.” “I won’t forget,” replied Rosalind. “I don’t know why you should accuse me of wanting to make mischief, Annie. I can’t help being curious, of course, and, of course, I’d like to know more.” “Well, for that matter, so would I,” replied Annie. “Where there is a mystery it’s much more satisfactory to get to the bottom of it. Of course, something dreadful must have happened to account for the change in Miss Oliphant. It would be a comfort to know the truth, and, of course, one need never talk of it. By the way, Rosie, you are just the person to ferret this little secret out; you are the right sort of person for spying and peeping.” “Oh, thank you,” replied Rosalind; “if that’s your opinion of me I’m not inclined to do anything to please you. Spying and peeping, indeed! What next?” Annie Day patted her companion’s small white hand.