The lustrous eyes opened wide. "Why, you mean to say you don't know? Thought you knew I was named after the governor. And she's named after _hers_--Frances, from Francis, you know--just the difference in a letter. See?" "Frances!" I murmured lingeringly. "So your name's Frances?" "Yes, and hers is Frances--odd, isn't it?" I assented, but I wished she would drop the other girl--I wasn't interested there, except just because she was. Her bosom lifted with a sigh. "Don't you think Frances is a peach of a name?" "It's heavenly!" I whispered. "And I'm glad to hear about your friend, too." Her sweet face clouded. "Not much of a friend; she don't lose any sleep over me," she commented gloomily. "Then there's Sis double-crossing me with her influence ever since I got hauled up before Prexy at Easter. Sis is awfully prissy." Her tone was almost savage. I strained incredulously after her meaning. "Did I understand you to say you were brought up before the president there at Radcliffe?" "Radcliffe?" Her head shook. "No--Harvard." And I nodded, recalling the affiliation between the two institutions at Cambridge. I wondered what silly, tyrannical straining of red tape discipline on some one's part had subjected this sensitive, refined girl to the humiliating ordeal of having to appear before the president of the college. Probably for plucking some trashy flower, or, at the worst, looking twice at some sappy freshman acquaintance waving his hand from a frat house. "By Jove, a devilish shame!" I ejaculated. "I should say!" Her voice was aggrieved. "All for a measly prize fight." "Prize fight!" I gasped. She nodded brightly. "Oh, a modest one, you know--not, of course, a Jeffries-Johnson affair, but I tell you we had them going some for a round and a half. Athletics is my long suit--just you feel those biceps." And with sudden movement she swept upward the wide, silken sleeve, showing a limb like the lost arm of the Venus de what's-its-name. "Go on--just feel it," she commanded, flexing the arm. "I--I--" And I gulped and balked. "_Feel_ it, I tell you!" And I did. And then I almost fell over, I received such a shock. For my fingers seemed to be clasping, not the soft, rounded contour I beheld, but a great massed protuberance, hard and unyielding as a bunch of dried putty. My fingers could not half span it. I jerked them away, bewildered. "Wonderful," I said faintly, and I batted perplexedly at the exquisite, symmetrical arm. "Oh, that's nothing," she said indifferently, jerking down her sleeve. "I'm a little undertrained now; been putting in all my time on leg work. That's what counts in foot-ball. "Foot-ball!" I questioned, astonished. "Why, I didn't know--" "That I was on the team? Surest thing you know; that's why I've got all this mop of hair--comes below my collar--see?"