One Tuesday night, when study hour was over, the girls had gone to their rooms, and the downstairs lights were out, Belinda sat in her room, correcting examination papers. She struggled through the pile, reached the last paper, and found that several sheets of it were missing. A careful search in the room failed to bring them to light; and the Youngest Teacher, with a frown of vexation between her pretty brows, picked up a match, girded her dressing gown about her, and making no noise in her knitted bedside slippers, went swiftly down the stairs. The door of the large schoolroom, where she expected to find her missing papers, was closed; and as Belinda stopped before it she fancied that she heard a murmur of voices beyond the door. She hesitated, smiled at herself, struck a match sharply, and threw open the door. There was a sudden movement in the room--a smothered exclamation. The light of the match fell full upon a man who held a girl in his arms. So much Belinda saw before she put out her hand to the electric button and turned on the light. Before her stood the incomparable Augustus, shabby, handsome, defiant; and to his arm clung Katharine Holland, white and frightened, but with her head up and a challenge in her eyes. Belinda stared for a second in bewilderment. Then she understood. She tried to remember that she was a teacher and to fix the culprits with an icy glare, but Belinda is not very old herself, and in common with all the world she loves a lover. The situation was shocking--but--the look on the girl's face was too much for the Youngest Teacher's severity. Impulsively Belinda held out her arms. "Oh, you poor child," she said. "You poor, foolish, hurt child." Her voice was athrill with tenderness. Her face was aglow with the mother-love that lives in the woman heart from doll days to the end of life. With a little sob the girl moved forward blindly. Belinda's arms went round her and drew her close. "Hush, dear. Don't cry. This is all wrong, but you've been very unhappy and you didn't mean to do wrong." The Youngest Teacher's eyes met those of the boy who stood, crimson-cheeked, uncertain, under the glare of the electric light; and she studied his face--a good-looking, determined face, with honest manliness under its boyish recklessness. "It wasn't fair," she said softly. "It wasn't fair to her. You would take care of her better than this if you loved her." The recklessness faded, leaving the manliness. "They've treated us abominably." "Yes, I know, but she is only seventeen--and clandestine meetings are vulgar and dangerous." "Her father can't give any reason except that ridiculous family feud." "A scandal would furnish an excellent reason, and justify him in his attitude toward you." "But there isn't going to be any scandal." "Suppose someone else had found you here and told the story broadcast." He winced. "But I can't live without seeing her sometimes."