She felt better after she had laughed. Perhaps now she could go to sleep. But not yet! She suddenly remembered her “Thought Book.” This evening had been rich in new experiences. She did not venture to turn on the light. That might be indecorous at midnight. But, kneeling by the window, she traced these words by the dim light: “Experience II. One need hardly be reminded that it is highly indecorous for a young lady to stand on a porch at midnight in a kimono. Moreover, let us ever avoid all appearance of evil!” Then she crawled into bed and fell asleep. CHAPTER VIII THE LAST STRAW No really human girl, especially with the memory of Miss Green, clothed in curl-papers and horror, fresh in her mind, could resist relating such an experience as that of the night before to her roommate at least. Virginia was really human, and so she told Priscilla, who was wondering over the lost porch key, first vowing her to eternal secrecy, or, at all events, until it should be revealed whether or not Miss Green would feel it her duty to report the affair. They might have spared themselves a great deal of wonder and a little worry had they known that Miss Green, after due deliberation in the small hours of the morning, had decided that this was not a case for report. However, she had not decided at the same time that implicit trust might be placed in this somewhat unusual girl from Wyoming. She was still disturbed, and somewhat suspicious, as she recalled the events of the evening before, and felt that Virginia would “bear watching.” Breakfast that Saturday morning was a painfully lugubrious meal. To begin with, every one was late; and Miss Green’s frigid manner really did not need the added coolness which she invariably bestowed upon late comers. Imogene did not appear, sending a headache as an excuse, and Vivian arrived, red-eyed from weeping, and minus a neck-tie. Mary and Anne were unusually silent, Lucile audibly wished for the “Continental Breakfast,” and Dorothy openly snubbed Virginia, who hoped, perhaps not tactfully, but certainly genuinely, that Imogene was not ill. Priscilla and Virginia had come in late, but in good spirits, having just finished laughing over Miss Green’s curl-papers. However, their good spirits waned in this atmosphere, only enlivened by Miss Wallace’s futile attempt at conversation. Moreover, Miss Green felt Virginia’s gayety very inappropriate under the circumstances, and apparently considered it her duty to extend toward her a cool reserve.