“Yes, too ridiculous. Said she has adopted a girl, actually adopted a girl, who is at this college. And that she has brought her here just to wait on her. Did you ever hear such trash?” A light filtered through Judith’s mental reservation. That story must mean Helen. And the “adoption” must belong to the scholarship clause. How awful it seemed to struggle against class prejudice! Why must some girls always be snobs? “Who would have spread such a crazy yarn?” asked Gloria. “Well, someone who shopped in New York late this summer, I guess. Said she saw Jane lots of times, and the little girl carrying her bundles.” Judith’s face fell to zero. After all they had done for Helen, to think the tables had been turned, making Jane the beneficiary! “We have to come right out and contradict that,” exclaimed Gloria. “We could never win with Jane wearing the stigma of—snob.” “And Jane Allen above all girls! She who has always been so generous and so considerate. Why, I would as soon think of accusing her of theft, or any crime outright, as to say she would bring a girl here under false pretenses.” None knew better than did Judith how delicate a situation was evolving. To clear Jane would implicate Helen to the extent, at least, of proclaiming her a scholarship student, and this would be an outrage, just when she was becoming so popular, and when news from her friends—but Judith could no longer cogitate. She must act! She must do something to save the situation. “I was with Jane and Helen in New York, and we stopped at Miss Jordan’s. We all had a wonderful time. Now how could anyone make bad capital out of that?” she demanded of the defenseless and innocent Gloria. “Well, you know the opposition,” Gloria reminded the indignant Judith. “They are all wizards at that sort of thing. There goes the gong. We must away. Nettie, don’t do anything till you hear from us. Be at the palms when three thirty is dismissed,” and with a well-practiced dash all three covered the stretch of green and presently sauntered in line with their classes, quite as calm and unruffled as the remainder appeared. All but Judith. Those who knew her best might easily have guessed she was “boiling over.” That determined, self-restrained expression could mean nothing else. “What on earth is it, Judy?” whispered Jane. “Turned on my ankle,” glibly lied Judith, without any such intention. “Hurt much?” persisted the troublesome Jane. “No, that is—yes. I don’t know—maybe nothing,” and Judith blushed at her own stupidity. Presently Jane would be suggesting iodine. Breathing exercises over, just as Judith had feared, along came Jane with her whisper: “Iodine!” “Oh, yes, war paint!” Judith flung back. “I am all right, Janie, I was joking.”