Cornelia found herself in the last of a long line of sections or stalls which flanked a narrow corridor dividing the girl students from the young men, who were often indeed hardly more than boys. There was a table stretching from this corridor to a window looking down on the roofs of some carpenter shops and stables; on the board before her lay the elementary shape of a hand in plaster, which she was trying to draw. At her side that odd-looking girl, who had stared so at her on the stairs the day before, was working at a block foot, and not getting it very well. She had in fact given it up for the present and was watching Cornelia's work and watching her face, and talking to her. "What is your name?" she broke off to ask, in the midst of a monologue upon the social customs and characteristics of the Synthesis. Cornelia always frowned, and drew her breath in long sibilations, when she was trying hard to get a thing right. She now turned a knotted forehead on her companion, but stopped her hissing to ask, "What?" Then she came to herself and said, "Oh! Saunders." "I don't mean your last name," said the other, "I mean your first name." "Cornelia," said the owner of it, as briefly as before. "I should have thought it would have been Gladys," the other suggested. Cornelia looked up in astonishment and some resentment. "Why in the world should my name be Gladys?" she demanded. "I don't know," the other explained. "But the first moment I saw you in the office, I said to myself, 'Of course her name is Gladys.' Mine is Charmian." "Is it?" said Cornelia, not so much with preoccupation, perhaps, as with indifference. She thought it rather a nice name, but she did not know what she had to do with it. "Yes," the other said, as if she had somehow expected to be doubted. "My last name's Maybough." Cornelia kept on at her work without remark, and Miss Maybough pursued, as if it were a branch of autobiography, "I'm going to have lunch; aren't you?" Cornelia sighed dreamily, as she drew back for an effect of her drawing, which she held up on the table before her, "Is it time?" "Do you suppose they would be letting me talk so to you if it weren't? The monitor would have been down on me long ago." Cornelia had noticed a girl who seemed to be in authority, and who sat where she could oversee and overhear all that went on. "Is she one of the students?" she asked. Miss Maybough nodded. "Elected every month. She's awful. You can't do anything with her when she's on duty, but she's a little dear when she isn't. You'll like her." Miss Maybough leaned toward her, and joined Cornelia in a study of her drawing. "How splendidly you're getting it. It's very _chic_. Oh, anybody can see that _you've_ got genius!"