“To Miss Violet Featherstone.” The docile Freshman repeated it and then said “Wait!” and looked around. “If Miss Featherstone is here,” she remarked, “she can come to the telephone;” but someone volunteered the information that Miss Featherstone had left by the early train for Boston, and the telephoning proceeded. “My darling--” the Freshman gasped a little and then repeated slowly “My darling.” There was some suppressed commotion for an instant among the crowd around the doors, and the two at the telephone went at it again. “I have not heard from you for three days.” “I have not heard from you for three days,” mumbled the Freshman. “What is the matter? Renford Phillips.” “What is the matter? Renford Phillips.” * * * * * When Miss Featherstone reached the college that afternoon she thought she detected a suppressed excitement about the whole place, though she felt rather too tired to think much about it, but when she got to her room she found a telephone message for her which made her sink weakly into a chair. An appalling vision of the consequences rose before her. She tried to think connectedly, but the effort was too much. Her only thought was of the effect it would have on her friend Eva Hungerford. She would go to her immediately and find out how much she knew. As she went along the corridors more than one acquaintance smiled knowingly at her, but she only hurried on. When she reached Miss Hungerford’s rooms, she found that young lady looking dejectedly out of the windows. Her melancholy turned to stony haughtiness, however, when Miss Featherstone approached her tremblingly. “Yes, the whole college knew of it,” she assured her. “The message had been telephoned up when the office was crowded, and by this time everyone was aware of what her best friend had not known.”