Just across the room, directly below the big desk, sat Marian Seaton, surrounded by a chattering crowd, taking advantage fully of the open session preceding the formal program. Hazel Manners, the retiring president, looking very handsome and very charming, in her senior gown, with the cap’s tassel still to the left, however, made a happy and appropriate little speech in stepping down. She assured the girls of her willingness and wish to assist them, by advice with any matter her experience might make valuable to them. Hazel was one of the most popular girls in college, and it was undoubtedly the aspiration of every girl present to become like Hazel in her senior year. Jane thanked her gracefully, and took the place at the desk. A few words of consecration, as Jane expressed it, opened the new period of class history. This was the signal for all outsiders to withdraw; that is, all except the guards, these being two of the faculty, always on hand to keep order. With characteristic directness Jane plunged into the most difficult part of the meeting. Instantly everyone changed positions, that shifting move, usually marking a new angle in a sermon, and after that one could have heard a pin drop in the big room. “To sustain my reputation and on that account only,” Jane began, “I am prompted to open a subject bound to be rather distressing to all. I refer to the question of my change of heart on the matter of taking this office. I had said positively I would not take it, and now here I am. In such a position I feel obliged to give a reason for my decision, to my splendid supporters.” Applause interrupted Jane at this point. Not only did the girls want to know what happened on election night, but they had no hesitancy in publicly proclaiming their interest. “When you began your meeting at which you hoped to elect me (Applause) I had fully intended to decline, but scarcely had I settled down to wait for your call than another came—it was an urgent call to go to Rutherford Inn, where, the message said, I would meet a relative, who was in distress! I have few relatives (Jane paused a moment) and that call sent me flying out to Rutherford!” Audible breathing marked the interval. “But no sooner did I cross the threshold of the Inn than I was seized by—someone, or some two or three, and after a rather rough tussle I succeeded finally in getting free,” declared Jane. “Of course, I knew then it had been a trick to kidnap me!” Cries of “shame,” “foul,” and hisses broke in on the monologue here, and Jane was obliged to rap loudly for order. “Kidnapping is positively forbidden in class rules,” Minette managed to make heard, “and the perpetrators should be brought to trial.” “Madam President! Madam President!” shouted a girl from the opposition. “I demand to be heard——” “Miss Tracy has the floor,” conceded Jane. “The rules were not violated. We did not kidnap a candidate. You had not yet accepted,” Miss Tracy shouted in verbal chunks.