At supper Dorothy tried in vain to eat the food upon her plate. Impossible schemes, each vetoed as soon as concocted, were born but to die. It was only when Priscilla and Virginia, excused early for tennis, left the table, that an inspiration seized her. Almost without waiting for Miss Wallace’s nod of permission, she ran from the dining-room, flew up the stairs, and burst into Priscilla’s and Virginia’s room, where they, surprised, paused in the act of lacing their tennis shoes. “Oh, Virginia,” she cried, “go quick! Vivian will listen to you, and she won’t to me, because I’ve been so mean. Oh, lace your shoes quickly! She is down by the birch tree, just beyond the gates on the road to Hillcrest, waiting for—for that silly Leslie, who’s coming to take her to drive. And it’s not her fault, because we—I mean I—put her up to do it. And you can hate and despise and detest me, if you want to, only hurry, and make him go away!” The founder of the Vigilantes needed no further explanation. So this was the meaning of her discovery a month ago! She sprang to her feet, raced through the hall, down the stairs, and across the campus toward the road, while the contrite Dorothy remained to confess the whole miserable story to Priscilla. It was Friday evening and there was no study hour after supper, so that Virginia could leave The Hermitage without exciting surprise. Moreover, the girls in the cottages were all at supper, and there was no one to note her hurried flight down the hill. Dorothy had not said at what hour Vivian’s cavalier would arrive, and there was no time to be lost. Even then they might be driving away. Almost out of breath she raced down the hill, through the pine woods, out the stone gates, and into the main road. A quarter of a mile away, coming from the direction of Hillcrest, she saw a runabout, in which sat a solitary figure, who seeing her at that distance waved his hand as a signal. “It’s that silly thing!” breathed Virginia to herself. “He thinks I’m Vivian. Oh, I’m glad I’m not too late!” She dashed down the road and into the rude path through the alders to the birch tree. There, at its base, hidden by the alders from the view of those who passed, crouched poor, trembling Vivian. She had half risen, as Virginia crashed through the bushes, thinking that her cavalier was approaching; but at the sight of the panting Virginia, she shrank back against the tree. “Why—why, Virginia,” she stammered. “Why—why, what do you want?” Virginia was almost too breathless to answer. “I’ve—come—to meet—your friend, Vivian,” she managed to gasp. “He’s coming now. He’ll be here in a moment.” “I—I think I’m scared,” gasped Vivian in her turn, shrinking farther back against the tree. “Aren’t you, Virginia?” “No,” said her deliverer, gaining breath at every moment, “no, Vivian, I certainly am not scared. I feel as brave as Theseus, though Leslie isn’t much of a Minotaur, I must say!”