“Always remember! Why, I _never_ do! I think it’s a point of ignorance to be proud of. It’s depressing to remember so many unvital things. That’s one.” Ten minutes’ silence, punctuated by Priscilla’s sighs over Cicero, and Virginia’s whispered prepositions. “The person who recommended Friday afternoon study hour must have been very inhuman.” “She was! ’Twas Greenie! We’re studying now in blessed memory of her!” “I wonder where she is.” “Oh, probably sitting on an Athenian rock-pile, and gazing at the Acropolis! I’m glad it’s the Acropolis instead of me! Virginia, I can’t study another second, and it isn’t three o’clock for fifteen minutes. You haven’t shown me how you’ve changed the Constitution yet, and we’re going to start at three. I don’t see but that we both have to stop studying anyway, whether we choose to or not. We’ve just about time to read it over.” Virginia needed no urging. She closed the Latin Grammar, tore the afghan and pillows from her couch, and burrowed under the bed-clothes until she found what she sought—a somewhat rumpled piece of paper. “This is the original, you know,” she said. “I’m keeping it for my Memory Book, and I’ll make a copy for yours. I made the new one different as we planned. I took out the ‘evil influence’ part, because there isn’t any more need for that, and, of course, the names of those we were especially guarding. I don’t think Dorothy and Vivian had best know about that, do you? It might make them feel a little queer to know we’d been watching them especially.” “No, we won’t say anything about that part. They’re going to be one of us now, and trying for the same thing. We’ll keep the real reason for the founding of the order a secret, known to only the charter members. I’ll never cease to be glad you thought of it, now that things have come out the way they have. Isn’t it splendid about Dorothy’s grades? Mary said to-day that if Dorothy gets _A’s_ in everything all the quarter, the way she has ever since Easter, and every one else keeps up as well, we’ll really have a chance of winning the cup from Hathaway.” “Vivian’s doing splendidly, too. Miss Wallace read her theme in class to-day and complimented her, and Vivian looked so pleased. She’s so quiet lately, and seems sad. I think she feels bad about Imogene. Priscilla, do you really suppose that—?” Virginia’s voice was mysteriously lowered. “Yes, I do,” answered Priscilla in a whisper. “Of course, no one will ever know; but I’m sure Imogene didn’t know her mother was coming, and we all know Imogene wasn’t sick. Maybe Mary felt she ought to tell; or maybe Miss Wallace knew more than we thought all along. St. Helen’s always does things quietly; but I’ll always think that Imogene was—expelled!” “Maybe Vivian knows, and that’s why she feels so bad. And, besides, it’s lonesome rooming all alone. I’ll read you the new Constitution, and then we’ll go and get them both. Where shall we go?”