"Hope you'll like it at Hope." Charity gave Kit her hand with a warm grip. "I'm from the east, too, only not so far as you are, but we think Pennsylvania's east, out here. How do you like the decoration?" Kit liked it, and said so emphatically. The room was in Chinese blue and black, tea table, chiffonier and two chairs painted a dull black, and the walls tinted a soft deep gray blue. "I hunted all over Chicago for Chinese things, and I found a few. Isn't this a celestial rose jar? I think it's big enough for a pot of basil. Who was the gentle poet that sang of the lady who buried her fond lover's head in a flower pot and watered it with her tears?" "Bet you use it for orange punch before the year is up," Peggy laughed. "Oh, Kit, she makes wonderful fruit punch. Each guest brings her own favorite fruit, then Charity mashes them all together and it's delicious." "I wish I stayed here all the time," Kit exclaimed. "You miss the fun, being a day student, don't you?" "Never mind, child," Charity told her consolingly, "we will have some special daylight celebrations all for you. Now clear out, girls, because I'm dying to lay out the first edition schedule." "Charity's editor of the '_Glamour_,'" Peg said. "The boys call it the '_Clamour_,' but we don't mind. It used to be the '_Gleam_,' but we thought 'Glamour' carried more intensity with it. Kit's going to dash off some little simple trifle in spare moments for us, aren't you? Amy writes poetry, free verse. Show them that bit you made up in Assembly." Amy took out a sheet of copy paper from her Ancient History, and read aloud: "Oh, wayward maid, Hast strayed Too far from native strand. Lost in a maze, the savage gaze Becomes a frightened, spellbound gaze, By fond ambition fanned." "Sounds just like Pope, doesn't it?" said Kit. "I like that last line, 'by fond ambition fanned.'" "Seek not the sacred hall of fame, Cling to thy simple life, On Hope's high banner, Beaubien, Shall never, never----" But Kit interrupted pointblank. She was sitting up very straight on the divan, with a certain expression around her mouth, and a very steady purposeful look in her eyes, which even Jean at home paid attention to. "Just a minute," she said, quickly. "Do you mean Marcelle Beaubien? Because if you do, I don't think that's fair." CHAPTER XII KIT LOCATES A "FOUNDER" Peg patted her in a conciliatory manner. "Now, my child," she said, "curb that swift and rising wrath, and bottle the vials thereof. What is Hecuba to you, or you to Hecuba?" "Poor little Peggy," Charity murmured, "getting into trim for a Shakespeare drive? You know, Kit, our Peg is president of the Portia Dramatic Club, and the mantle doth not rest lightly on her young shoulders." But Kit could not be diverted, and the color rose somewhat belligerently in Amy's cheeks, too;