"Lucy," she said at last, "do you mind going back with me to the University, and glancing over the lists again?" "Yes, do. We must have made a mistake. It is simply ridiculous." But in her heart of hearts she knew that they had not made a mistake. The little crowd had almost dispersed when they returned, and there was nothing to prevent a quiet and thorough study of the lists. "It is infamous," said Lucy, "simply infamous! Small credit it is to me to have passed when that is all the examiners know of their work!" "Nonsense! It's all right. You know I had my weak subject. Come." "Will you wait here while I send off the telegrams?" "No, I will come with you." They passed out of the heat and glare into the dusty little shop, and Mona leaned her elbow wearily on the counter. She had begun to believe it now, but not to realise it in the least. "How horribly I shall be suffering to-morrow!" she thought, with a shiver of dread. "Weal and woe!" she said, smiling, as she read the telegrams Lucy had scribbled. "Two women shall be grinding at the mill; the one shall be taken and the other left." "_Don't_," said Lucy, with a little stamp of her foot. For the moment she was suffering more than Mona. They walked home in silence to the house in Gower Street. "Come in to tea? No? Well, good-bye, dear. Take care of yourself. My love and duty to your father and mother. Write to me here." She nodded brightly, opened the door with her latch-key, and entered the cool dark house. Very slowly she dragged herself up to her pretty sitting-room, and shut the door. She winced as her eye fell on the old familiar sights--Quain, and Foster, and Mitchell Bruce, the Leitz under its glass shade, and the box of what she was pleased to dub 'ivory toys.' Then her eye fell on her own reflection in the draped mirror, and she walked straight up to the white, strong, sensitive face. "Who cares?" she said defiantly. "Not you nor I! What does it matter? _Ay de mi_! What does anything mean? What is success or failure after all?" From which soliloquy you will be able to form a pretty definite idea of my heroine's age. CHAPTER III. "ADOLESCENT INSANITY." "Rather than go through all that strain again," said Mona the next morning, "I would throw up the whole thing and emigrate." She was leaning back on the pillows, her hair all tumbled into curls after a restless night, her hands playing absently with the lace on her morning wrapper. "Why doesn't the coffee come?" As she spoke, the maid came in with a tempting little tray. Mona was a lodger worth having. "You look ill, miss," said the girl. "No. Only a headache. I am not going out this morning. Bring the hot water in half an hour."