“I adore Miss Wallace, too,” she said. “She makes you want to be fine just by never talking about it. I wish I could like poor Miss Green—she seems so sort of left out some way—but she just goes at you the wrong way. Mother and daddy think she must be splendid because she enforces rules, and they say we’re prejudiced; but I don’t think they understand. It isn’t enforcing the rules; it’s the way she has of doing it.” Dorothy acquiesced. “I suppose we’ll have to make the best of her if she’s there. Miss Wallace’s being there, too, will make it better. I’m wondering whom I’ll draw for a room-mate. Do you know who’s yours?” “No, Miss King wrote mother and said she’d selected a wholly desirable one for me. I do hope she doesn’t chew gum, or want fish-nets up, or like to borrow.” Virginia recalled Miss King’s words to her grandmother—“a wholly desirable girl ”—but then that was just a form of expression. There was no reason to believe, much as she would like to hope, that Priscilla was to be her room-mate. At all events, if such a thing by any possibility should come to pass, she was glad she did not chew gum. As to fish-nets, she had never heard of one in a room, and as for borrowing, she had never had any one in her life from whom she might borrow. At that moment she saw the girls looking at her. Perhaps they had suspected that she, too, was a St. Helen’s girl. They whispered one to the other and exchanged glances, while Virginia, a little embarrassed, looked out of the window. She only hoped they liked her half as much as she liked them. They began to talk again. “My dear,” this from the extravagant Dorothy, “when you see my Navajo rug, your eyes will leave your head for a week! It’s positively heavenly! Daddy had it sent from California. Whoever my room-mate is, she ought to be grateful for having that on the floor. It makes up for me.” “I won’t hope for a Navajo just so long as I get some one I’ll like.” Virginia thought of her two Navajos in her trunk—one a gift from her father, the other made and given her by a New Mexican Indian, whom she had known from her babyhood. Oh, if only Priscilla might be the one! “Do you suppose Imogene and Vivian will be back?” Priscilla continued. “Imogene wrote me she was coming.” Somehow Virginia detected embarrassment in Dorothy’s answer. Who was Imogene? she wondered. “You know, Priscilla, Imogene’s lots of fun. Of course, she isn’t like you or Mary Williams or Anne, but you can’t help liking her all the same.” “I know she’s fun, Dot, but I don’t think her fun is a very good kind; and I don’t like the way she influences Vivian. Vivian’s a dear when Imogene’s not around; but the minute they’re together she follows Imogene’s lead in everything.” Somehow Virginia knew she should not care for Imogene. But where before had she heard the name Mary Williams? Just then they passed a tiny village surrounded by elm trees. “There’s Riverside now,” cried the girls opposite, “and Hillcrest is the next.”