She gave a kind of annoyed cluck as she finally found the desired correspondence between herself and the newcomer’s father, who had signed his letters, “Herbert Cecil Monroe.” They had been written from a Paris address and had been accompanied by satisfactory references. In them, however, her permission had not been asked, nor had she agreed to admit the daughter of her correspondent to Wayland Hall before the formal opening of Hamilton College. CHAPTER X.—AT THE ARMS “Where is she, Jonas?” Marjorie raised a cautioning finger. She hardly breathed the question for fear of Miss Susanna’s proximity. “She’s up in Mr. Brooke’s study, Miss Marjorie,” Jonas replied in equally guarded tones. Miss Susanna’s faithful retainer of years, the old man stood the center of the group of charming youthful visitors. He was smiling his vivid, crinkled smile as though he was thoroughly enjoying the invasion. Contrary to expectation that Miss Susanna might be taking her accustomed stroll about the grounds after tea, the callers had reached the house without having seen sign of her. Jonas had answered their ring. He had come down the wide, thick-carpeted hall to the open door in his slow dignified fashion. His face had lighted beautifully at sight of the knot of bright-faced girls peering laughingly at him through the screen. It was for Marjorie, however, that his smile was kindest. He shared Miss Susanna’s fondness for “our young lady.” The cordial handshake he gave her came straight from his worshiping heart. “She’s in the study quite a bit of late. _He_ would have liked that.” The old man nodded with conviction. “I’m sure he would have, Jonas,” Marjorie heartily agreed. Her chums smiled concurrence. They still had much of the same reserve for the courtly, silver-haired retainer that they experienced toward Miss Susanna. “We’d love to steal in on her there,” she said with impulsive eagerness. “Do you think she’d care to be surprised in that way?” “I know she would. Miss Marjorie.” Jonas seemed very sure of this point. A faintly mischievous expression had leaped into his keen blue eyes. He surveyed her smilingly, as though debating something in his mind. “What is it, Jonas?” Marjorie was quick to catch the change of expression. “There’s a sliding panel in Mr. Brooke’s study, Miss Marjorie. Miss Susanna sits in Mr. Brooke’s chair always when she’s up there. Her back is toward the panel. I can let you in that way, if you’d like it.” “We’d _love_ to.” Marjorie grew radiant. She consulted her chums with dancing eyes. They made genial signs of wholesale approval. “Are you sure we won’t startle her?” she asked as a prudent afterthought. “She’s not one to be startled,” Jonas proudly assured. “She’ll see you as quick almost as you see her. She’s quick to see.” “Suppose I were to steal up behind her and slip my hands over her eyes? Perhaps I’d better not do that.” Marjorie grew doubtful.