"Just let me tell you one thing, Gracious," she remarked one blustering March evening as the two young women fought their way across the campus against a howling wind. They were returning from an evening spent with Kathleen West and Patience Eliot. "Miss Wharton is no more fitted for the position of dean at Overton College than I am for the presidency of the United States. She may have been successful in some little, out-of-the-way academy in a jerkwater town, but she's sadly out of place here. She has about as much tact as a rhinoceros, and possesses the aesthetic perceptions of a coal shoveler. I'm just waiting for these simple truths to dawn upon the intellects of our august Board. I understand that cadaverous-looking man with the wall eyes and the spade-shaped, beard, who walks about as though he cherished a grudge against the human race, and rejoices in the euphonious name of Darius Dutton, is responsible for this crime against Overton. He recommended her appointment to the Board. It seems that he is Miss Wharton's cousin. Thank goodness he isn't mine, or Miss Wharton either." Grace laughed at Emma's sweeping denunciation of Miss Wharton and the offending Daniel Dutton. Then her face grew sober. "You mustn't allow my grievances to imbitter you, Emma, toward any member of the Board." "Oh, my only grudge against Darius D. so far is his having such detestable relatives and foisting them upon an innocent, trusting college," retorted Emma with spirit, "but my grudge against Miss Wharton is a very different matter. It's an active, lively grudge. I'd like to write to Miss Wilder and Mrs. Gray, and interview Dr. Morton, and then see what happened. It would not be Grace Harlowe who resigned; but it might be a certain hateful person whose name begins with W. I won't say her name outright. Possibly you'll be able to guess it." Grace's hand found Emma's in the dark as they came to the steps of Harlowe House. The two girls paused for an instant. Their hands clung loyally. "Remember, Emma, you've promised to let me have my own way in this," reminded Grace wistfully. "I'll keep my promise," answered Emma, but her voice sounded husky. "I know," continued Grace, "that Miss Wharton's attitude toward me is one of personal prejudice. From the moment she saw me she disliked me. I know of only one other similar case. When Anne Pierson and I were freshmen in Oakdale High School we recited algebra to a teacher named Miss Leece, who behaved toward Anne in precisely the same way that Miss Wharton has behaved toward me, simply because she disliked her. But come on, old comrade, we mustn't stand out here all night with the wind howling in our ears. Let us try and forget our troubles. What is to be, will be. I am nothing, if not a fatalist." Grace forced herself to smile with her usual brightness, and the two girls entered the house arm in arm, each endeavoring, for the sake of the other to stifle her unhappiness.