“You want a room, I s’pose,” she began. “But, I’m sorry to say we haven’t one vacant—” “Oh, I’ll take Letty’s. She didn’t come, you see, so I can take her room for tonight.” “Letty wouldn’t like that.” “But I would. And I’m here and Letty isn’t. Shall we go right up?” Picking up her small suitcase, the girl started and then stepped back for the woman to lead the way. “Not quite so fast—_if_ you please. What is your name?” As the landlady’s tone changed to a sterner inflection, the girl likewise grew dignified. “My name is Anita Austin,” she said, coldly. “I came here because I was told it was the best house in Corinth.” “Where are you from?” “New York City.” “What address?” “Plaza Hotel.” By this time the strange dark eyes had done their work. A steady glance from Anita Austin seemed to compel all the world to do her bidding. At any rate, Mrs. Adams took the suitcase, and without a further word conducted the stranger upstairs. She took her into an attractive bedroom, presumably made ready for the absent Letty. “This will do,” Miss Austin said, calmly. “Will you send me up a tray of supper? I don’t want much, and I prefer not to come down to dinner.” “Land sake, dinner’s over long ago. You want some tea, ’n’ bread, ’n’ butter, ’n’ preserves, ’n’ cake?” “Yes, thank you, that sounds good. Send it in half an hour.” To her guest Mrs. Adams showed merely a face of acquiescence, but once outside the door, and released from the spell of those eerie eyes, she remarked to herself, “For the land sake!” with great emphasis. “Well, what do you know about that!” Old Salt Adams cried, when, after she had started him on his supper, his wife related the episode. “I can’t make her out,” Mrs. Adams said, thoughtfully. “But I don’t like her. And I won’t keep her. Tomorrow, you take her over to Belton’s.” “Just as you say. But I thought her kinda interesting looking. You can’t say she isn’t that.” “Maybe so, to some folks. Not to me. And Letty’ll come tomorrow, so that girl’ll have to get out of the room.” Meanwhile “that girl” was eagerly peering out of her window. She tried to discern which were the lights of the college buildings, but through the still lightly falling snow, she could see but little, and after a time, she gave up the effort. She drew her head back into the room just as a tap at the door announced her supper. “Thank you,” she said to the maid who brought it. “Set it on that stand, please. It looks very nice.” And then, sitting comfortably in an easy chair, robed in warm dressing gown and slippers, Miss Anita Austin devoted a pleasant half hour to the simple but thoroughly satisfactory meal. This finished, she wrote some letters. Not many, indeed, but few as they were, the midnight hour struck before she sealed the last envelope and wrote the last address. Then, prepared for bed, she again looked from the window, and gazed long into the night.