The day passed in swift confusion of events and men, and chattering girls, and efforts to chatter at least as much and as entertainingly as the others did, if not more. In the afternoon they danced at the different fraternity houses; and wherever they went, Jack Barnett followed, to cut in on Joy, and to thrill her with his tenderly smiling eyes. It was a mammoth achievement to be rushed by the big man of college; and Tom was gloatingly impressed. “You’ve got Jack Barnett going! I guess my taste isn’t so bad—eh, what, Joy?” “Oh—he probably rushes a new girl every day,” she responded, over the leaps and bounds of her heart, which was making itself known to her in a strange, deliciously-disturbing way. “Not a chance!” Tom disqualified her statement; “he’s some picker, Barnett is—it’s not very often he gives a girl any time at all—and when he does, she has to be a wonder!” When the girls finally went upstairs to dress for Prom, Joy found that even her roommates were impressed. “You certainly have got Jack Barnett going,” drawled Sarah. The words were almost the same as Tom’s, but her voice brought an entirely different connotation. Jerry pirouetted around Joy. “I like to see the blasé old Barnett, who thinks he knows it all, on the trail of a new one!” She came to a pause as Joy pulled out her Prom dress and laid it on the bed. It was a fairy-like mass of fluffy-white tulle, which Joy had saved for the big night. Jerry pounced on it and held it up. “Will you let me add some touches to you to-night?” she demanded. “I want to see Jack’s jaw drop and watch him stagger back as you come breezing down the stairs! I want to see you overwhelm him!” “I—I would just _love_ to overwhelm him,” said Joy, with a shaky little laugh. “You’ll need some colour, I’ll say,” Jerry added; “you’re pale to-night.” She was rather pale, and somehow she felt weak and worn out. And her heart kept right on pounding in this extraordinary manner—— “Hurry up with your old tools, Sal,” Jerry commanded. “I’m going to make Joy into such a riot she’ll knock ’em all cold.” While Sarah completed the vital matter of fixing her face, Jerry did things to Joy’s dress. First, she pulled out the baby sleeves that adorned it. Then she put it on Joy, and took down the back until Joy’s back was conspicuous by its presence. “Jerry——” her victim remonstrated—“there’s nothing holding me up but these straps—what if they should give way?” “Court plaster,” mumbled the oracle, her mouth full of pins, and proceeded to rummage forth a supply from one of the boxes scattered about the room. “That’ll keep your dress stuck on whether the straps stay or leave.” When Jerry had quite finished with her, Joy looked in vain for telltale signs of alteration. “Why, Jerry! Jerry—anyone would think——” she looked again at the “creation” into which her sweet, simple and girlish gown had been evolved—” anyone would think you were—a regular dressmaker.”