Just then the study bell rang, and with a bow, like that of one accustomed to a formal life, the new girl left Cathalina and hurried away. Cathalina stopped to pick up a notebook and her fountain pen from the chair in which she had been sitting and then walked thoughtfully upstairs, thinking as she went that she had not learned the name of the newcomer. “Where have I seen somebody like that before?” she wondered. “And that manner?” But when she reached the suite there was a group of girls just leaving for their rooms and the merry chatter put an end to her thoughts about other things. A few days after this incident, Cathalina, with Betty Barnes, Isabel Hunt, Eloise Winthrop and Diane Percy were sitting in the window-seat at the head of the front stairs when this girl swiftly passed them and went on downstairs. “Isn’t she a _beautiful_ girl?” said Diane. “Yes, but you can’t get acquainted with her,” replied Eloise. “Well, she’s just lost her father,—no wonder!” Cathalina said with sympathy. “Where’d she come from?” asked Isabel. “Nobody knows. She told one girl Cincinnati, another New York and Miss West said she was from Philadelphia. Did you see them come? The machine had an Ohio tag on it.” “O, did you see her come?” “Yes; Diane and Grace and I were standing on the porch. They came in a big closed Packard,—she and a woman that looked just like her, except that she had dark hair and a wider face. They weren’t expected, I’m sure, and they didn’t take out any baggage for a long time and were in Miss Randolph’s parlor for over an hour,—we must have been in the library an hour, weren’t we, Diane? And when we came back, there they were, coming down the steps. The chauffeur took in a lot of baggage and the girl came out and cried and carried on and would hardly let the woman go. She was in black, too. The chauffeur looked cross, what we could see of his face, and hustled the woman into the car and pointed the girl to the Hall!” “I bet he wasn’t a chauffeur, then,—must have been one of the family. You don’t pay chauffeurs to boss you.” “Listen to Sherlock Holmes! What did he look like, Diane?” Cathalina was much interested. “I couldn’t tell how he looked, except cross, as Eloise says. He had a cap and goggles, you know, and was big and tall—and that’s all.” “‘Pome’ by Diane Percy: ‘Big and tall, and that’s all.’” “I can only talk in rhyme,” simpered Diane in falsetto. Eloise took up the story again: “Miss Randolph came out, then, looking worried, and we went on to our suite. I think she _is_ very handsome, as Diane says, but there is something different about her,—I don’t know what it is, something that isn’t _in_ her face and—O, I can’t tell what I do mean, but I’m sure I shall never try to make her acquaintance.” “But perhaps that is the very thing she needs,” said Cathalina. “I know how you feel when you are shy and sort of proud too,—”