But, in spite of her glowing cheeks and outward gaiety, Molly was far from being happy that night. No word had come to her from her family all the week, although they were the most prolific letter writers, all of them. No doubt they hesitated for a while to let her know the truth about the Square Deal Mine. Molly was prepared for anything; prepared to give up college at mid-years and get a position to teach school in the country somewhere; prepared to look the worst in the face bravely. But Wellington was like a second home to her now. She loved its twin gray towers, its classic quadrangle and beautiful cloisters; its spacious campus shaded with elm trees. How dear these things had grown to her now that the thought of leaving them forced its way into her mind! She was debating these questions inwardly, as she gallantly led her partner over to the lemonade table, where Mary Stewart, in a beautiful liberty dress of pigeon blue that matched her eyes, was presiding with Judith Blount and two other juniors. "Why, Molly Brown," exclaimed Mary, "in spite of all your glowingness, you don't seem quite like yourself this evening. Has anything happened to roughen your gentle disposition? No bad news from home, I hope?" "Oh, no," returned Molly. "No news at all. I haven't heard all week." Judith, who still had a grudge against Queen's girls, although she was endeavoring to overcome it, here remarked: "Why, I think you are looking particularly well to-night, Molly. Such a becoming dress!" Molly flushed as she glanced hastily down at her two-year-old organdy. Mary Stewart put a hand over her cold, slim fingers. "You always wear becoming dresses, Molly, dear. In fact, they are so becoming that no one ever looks at the dress for looking at you." Molly smiled and pressed her friend's hand in return. She was wondering if Judith Blount would learn to curb her tongue when she had to curb her expenses. "I want you to meet Miss Petit," she said, introducing the little freshman to the two older girls. Mary Stewart shook hands kindly and Judith bowed distantly. Certainly Judith was in a bad humor that night. "How do you like Wellington?" asked Mary of Miss Petit by way of making conversation. "I think it's jus' lovely," drawled the little Southerner with her inimitable Louisiana accent. "I never danced on a better flo' befo' in all my life." Mary Stewart smiled. The soft, melodious voice was music to her ears. "You live in the Quadrangle, don't you? I think I saw you there the other day," continued Mary. "Oh, no, I reckon you saw some other girl. I live over the post office in the village." "She has a charming room," broke in Molly, when she was interrupted by a stifled laugh. Looking up quickly, they were confronted with Judith and one of her boon companions, their faces crimson with suppressed laughter. Miss Petit regarded the two juniors with a kind of gentle amazement. Then, without the slightest embarrassment, she said to Mary and Molly: