“I don’t like this college, anyway.” Sarah had moved to the bureau. Her face was positively gray until she started work on it. “I think the way they treat you—the way they do things——” “Oh, what can you expect?” mumbled Jerry, her mouth full of thread. “They live so far away, up here in the woods, not near any city or burg large enough to call a town—naturally they want to play around a little, when they import some girls here!” “Perhaps you think,” said Sarah suddenly, “that that freshman down there isn’t going to drop a few leading remarks when our little comrades come—unless we’re there first!” She turned to Joy. “You’re ready—won’t you go down and talk to them—tell ’em we’re coming right along?” “I’d be glad to!” and Joy made a swift exit. She was already conscious that she liked Jerry and did not like Sarah. This, she told herself, was not because Jerry had liked her voice—there was something about Jerry. But it would be awful for her to take her voice seriously. She wouldn’t be a real girl any longer—a girl like these Prom specimens, a few of whom were floating around the halls now, pale and sleepy, with Magic Curlers in their hair—hard to recognise as the overpowering beings of last night. She passed on down to the first floor, where things were a little more animated. A talking machine was playing and several men were sitting around in more or less expectant attitudes. Tom was not there, nor were the two “little comrades” of her roommates. Embarrassed, she was about to retreat, when one of the men detached himself from a group at the end of the room and came over to her. It was Jack Barnett. “I was hoping I would get a chance to see you this morning.” She was speechless with delight. If he could have known that he had been her last waking thought! It is as well that man cannot follow the intensely-flickering dreams and fancies of maidenhood. The two stood and looked at each other in a charmed silence. “Well?” he challenged. “You took the words out of my mouth when I saw you; what more can I say?” she retorted with a laugh. She was very lovely. His eyes dwelt upon her with minute appreciation, as they automatically moved off to a corner. She only dared to look at him from beneath the protective fringe of lowered lashes, lest his eyes catch hers and hold them until she would have to tear them away by force. She laughed aloud. “What are you laughing at, you funny girl?” he demanded. “Oh, nothing. I was only wondering if—if it was wrong to _hold eyes_.” “Not half as wrong as some other things,” he smiled. There they were. Two sentences, and they were skimming on the thin ice of conversation towards topics youth loves to discuss “broad-mindedly and impersonally.” Joy hesitated, and drew back. “Are you sleepy from last night? You don’t look a bit tired.” “Oh, I’m not. It’ll take several steady nights of this to put me under.” He stretched his impressive length, which she regarded with respect.