During the whole week, she had borne her part admirably. When she came out on the stage for the first time, on Saturday night, she had faltered. For a moment, the sea of upturned faces had terrified her, and she could distinguish nothing but a formless blur. Then, all at once, Billy's red-gold hair and clear blue eyes had detached themselves and caught her attention, and she flashed upon him one glance, half proud, half appealing. He smiled back at her broadly and waved his programme. An instant later, she was speaking her opening lines. She had led the baccalaureate procession; she had presided at the ivy exercises, that morning; and to-night, at the reception which followed the glee club concert, she was expected to show herself in her official capacity. The next day, she would lead her class in the commencement procession, and preside at the class supper. No wonder that she was tired, and that dark circles were beginning to come beneath her eyes. Popularity has its price, though it is a price well worth the paying. It had come to her unsought, unexpected, and she enjoyed it. Still, she was undeniably tired. She was glad for the moment to settle down on the bench, unnoticed in the crowd, with her father's arm across her shoulder and Hubert by her other side. "Tired out, Ted?" her father asked tenderly, as she nestled against him, regardless of her finery. "Oh, no; only glad of a chance to see my people. I have been in such a whirl, all the week, that I feel as if I had neglected you." "We haven't suffered, and you'll rest from the whirl. You can't be graduated but once, my girl, and I want you to have the best of it," he said proudly. "Next year, you will be with us again, so don't worry about us now." "You'd better sit up straight, Teddy," Phebe said, bending forward and speaking in an aggressively audible whisper. "You're leaning against your dress, and that thin stuff crushes awfully. Do be careful." "Never mind," Theodora answered, with a lazy disregard of her fluffy sea of pale green chiffon. "Papa and I shall never be here again just like this, and I mean to have the good of him." They lingered there until the concert was over and the tide was turning towards the Art Gallery. Then she rose reluctantly, and shook out her gown. [Illustration: "'GIVE ME MY FAN AND GLOVES, HU,' SHE SAID."] "Give me my fan and my gloves, Hu," she said. "I must fly to my post. I'd much rather stay here." As she turned away, a young man abruptly took leave of two juniors, and went hurrying after her. He was tall and alert, yet he walked with a certain stiffness, which gave an almost military erectness to his carriage. "The Philistines be upon me, Ted! Do save me!" She turned back to meet him. "What is the matter, Billy? I thought you looked content while the concert was going on." "Content! I'm distracted. I've been introduced to seven thousand girls. They all look alike, and I can't tell 'em from those I don't know."