Returned to Wellington, Jane and Judith both agreed that in spite of their holiday fun, each had missed the other dreadfully. They had plenty to talk about and much to show each other in the way of beautiful gifts which had fallen to their lot.
Judith was jubilant over the acquisition of a knitted white silk sweater, which she assured Jane was an exact counterpart of the one Mrs. Weatherbee had knitted for her niece.
"My Aunt Jennie made it for me," she explained, as she proudly exhibited it to Jane. "I bought the silk and she did the work. I told her about the one Mrs. Weatherbee made for her niece and dandy Aunt Jennie offered to knit one for me like it. Wasn't that nice in her? I'm going to show it to the girls and then put it away until Spring. It will be sweet with a white wash satin skirt. I'm going to have some made just to wear with it. Let's give a spread, Jane, to the crowd. Then we can show them our Christmas presents. It will give you a chance, too, to get that great secret idea of yours off your mind. You see I haven't forgotten about it."
Jane smilingly agreed that it would be a good opportunity and the spread was accordingly planned for the next evening. Christine, Barbara, Dorothy, Norma, Alicia, Adrienne, Ethel and Mary Ashton were the chosen few to be invited.
It was not until the little feast provided by Judith and Jane had been eaten and the ten girls still sat about the makeshift banqueting board, that Jane, urged by Judith to "Speak up, Janie," began rather diffidently to speak of her cherished new idea.
"I don't know whether you'll agree with me or not," she said. "If you don't, please say so frankly, because if we should decide to do what I'm going to propose we'll all have to be united in thinking it a good idea.
"It's like this," she continued. "We all spend a good deal of money on luncheons and dinners and spreads. We feel, of course, that we have a perfect right to do as we please with our allowance checks. So we have. Still, when one stops to think about quite a number of girls at Wellington who are straining every nerve to put themselves through college, it seems a little bit selfish to spend so much on one's own pleasures.
"Suppose we agreed to give only two spreads a month. There are ten of us here. We could each put a dollar a month into a common fund. That would give us ten dollars to spend on the two spreads, five dollars on each. During the month we'd see how much of our allowances we could save. Whatever we had left at the end of the month would go into the common fund. No one of us would be obliged to give any particular sum. Whatever we gave would be a good-will offering. One of us would be treasurer. We'd buy a toy-bank and the treasurer would take charge of it. Whenever one of us wanted to give something we'd go to her and drop the money in the bank. Not even she would know what we gave. The first of every new month she'd take the money out, count it and put it in the Chesterford Trust company for us."
"But suppose we save quite a lot, what would we do with it?" asked Barbara Tennant. "We wouldn't need it for ourselves. We'd have to——"
"That's what I'm coming to," interposed Jane. "We'd start a fund to help the poorer Wellington students along. There is no College Aid Society here. I don't know why none has ever been organized. I suppose there haven't been so very many poor girls at Wellington. Until three years ago there were no scholarships offered. There are only two now. There will be three soon. My father has promised me that."
Jane's lips curved in a tender little smile, as she quietly made this announcement. There was no hint of boastful pride in her tones; nothing save becoming modesty and deep sincerity.
"This money we collected would be open to any student to draw upon who made requisition for it," she explained.
"But would the girls who need it ask for it?" questioned Norma. "You see I know how it feels to be very, very poor. If I hadn't found such a splendid way to earn my tuition fees and board, I'm afraid I could never bring myself to ask for help in that way. It would seem like begging."
"Oh, we'd loan the money; not give it," promptly assured Jane. "We'd loan it without interest, to be repaid at convenience. You know the 'Beatrice Horton' books. Well, in those stories the girls at Exley College started such a fund. They gave entertainments and shows to help it along. Then they received money contributions from interested persons, too.
"I don't know whether we'd ever do as they did. I like the idea of the self-denial gifts from just the crowd of us. We could let the money pile up this year and if we had enough by next October we could start our Student's Aid Fund."
"We could keep up the good work during our vacations, too," enthusiastically suggested Mary Ashton. "A little self-denial then wouldn't hurt us, I guess, I think it would be fun for each of us to pledge ourselves to earn at least ten dollars this summer to put into the fund. Norma and Adrienne are the only ones of us here who ever earned a dollar. Dispute that if you can."
"I dispute it," grinned Judith. "My father once gave me a silver dollar for keeping quiet a whole hour. I was only five at the time I earned that fabulous sum."
"I've earned lots of dollars for churches and hospitals at bazaars," declared Christine. "I suppose most of us have. But that's not like earning money for ourselves."
"Well, everybody here is going to earn ten dollars this coming summer," stated Judith positively. "It would be still more fun if we each agreed to write a poem telling how we earned our ten dollars. We'd have a grand reunion as soon as we were all back in college and each of us would read her own poetic gem right out loud, so that we could all appreciate it."
Judith's proposal was greeted with laughter and accepted on the spot. The girls were no less enthusiastic over Jane's worthy plan and each expressed herself as ready and willing to do her bit toward furthering its success. Before the ten-thirty bell drove the revelers from the scene of revelry, Adrienne had been appointed to act as treasurer. Jane had been unanimously chosen, but declined, suggesting Adrienne in her stead.
Thus from one girl's generous thought was presently to spring an organization that would grow, thrive and endure long after Jane Allen had been graduated from Wellington College to a wider field in life.
That evening's jollification was the last for the participants until fateful mid-year, with its burden of examinations should come and go. The nearer it approached the more devoted became the Wellingtonites to study. Even basket-ball practice fell off considerably. The second game between the freshmen and sophomore teams was set for the third Saturday in February. This meant ample time for practice after the dreaded examinations were out of the way.
On the whole January seemed fated to pass out in uneventful placidity so far as Jane and Judith were concerned. Elsie Noble continued to glower her silent disapproval of her tablemates three times a day, but that was all. Since the disastrous failure of the scheme to leave Jane, Judith and Adrienne in the lurch at the freshman frolic, she had made no further attempts at unworthy retaliation for her supposed grievances.
Marian Seaton also appeared to be too fully occupied with her own affairs to undertake the launching of a new offensive against the girls she so greatly disliked. In fact, she behaved as though she had forgotten their very existence. For this they were duly grateful.
Only one incident occurred during the month which brought Marian's name up for discussion between Judith and Jane.
Judith arrived in her room late one afternoon with the news that Maizie Gilbert had lost a valuable sapphire and diamond pin. Notice of the loss had appeared on the main bulletin board at Wellington Hall. It was worded almost precisely as had been the notice previously posted by Marian regarding the loss of her diamond ring.
Judith again confided to Jane her sturdy disbelief concerning Maizie's loss. As in the case of Marian, she attributed it as a silly determination to attract undue attention. Jane frowned reflectively at Judith's supposition, but refused to commit herself.
"I don't want to talk or even think about either Marian or Maizie," she said shortly. "I've been living in perfect peace since Christmas and I hate to break the spell. I'm trying to keep my mind on study just now. Are you aware, Judy Stearns, that exams begin to-morrow?"
"I am. I am prepared—in a measure. Ahem!" Judith snickered, adding: "A very small measure."
"Are you going to study to-night?" Jane demanded. "If you're not, then away with you. I'm going to be fearfully, terribly, horribly busy. Don't interrupt me. That means you. Alicia is coming in after dinner to-night. We are going to conduct a review."
"All right, conduct it," graciously sanctioned Judith. "I'm not going to study to-night. I never do the last evening before exams. I just try to keep what I already know in my head and let it go at that. Guess I'll inflict my charming self upon Adrienne and Ethel. They're not going to study, either."
"Do so; do so," approved Jane with smiling alacrity. "I'm sure they'll love to have you."
"Certainly they will. I am always welcome everywhere—except here, on the dread eve of the stupendous ordeal which we shall presently be called upon to endure."
Judith struck an attitude and continued to declaim dramatically.
"Who am I that I should desire for a moment to remain where I am not desired. I will flee to the welcome haunt of my true friends. We'll make merry and make fudge at the same time. And I sha'n't bring you a single speck of squdgy, fudgy fudge," she ended in practical tones.
"I can live without it," informed Jane drily. "Be as merry as you please, but be quiet about it. Remember, a lot of girls will be trying to study."
"Oh, we won't get ourselves disliked," airily assured Judith. "We'll be as quiet as can be. We know how to behave during such times of stress."
Jane merely smiled. Judith and Adrienne together meant much hilarity.
Dinner over, Alicia appeared to hold student vigil with Jane. Judith as promptly betook herself to Adrienne's room for an evening's relaxation. There she found Norma, who had also elected to eschew study for fudge.
It may be said to the quartette's credit that, though hilarity reigned during the fudge making, it was of a subdued order. When the delicious concoction of chocolate and walnut meats was at last ready for sampling, the four girls sat down to eat and talk to their hearts' content.
The conversation drifting to the all-important subject of dress, Adrienne exclaimed in sudden recollection:
"Ah, Judy, but I must show you the sweet frock which I have this day received from ma mère. It is, of a truth, the dream. But wait one moment! You shall thus see for yourself."
Springing up from her chair, the little girl darted to a curtained doorway, the entrance to a roomy closet, containing her own and Ethel's gowns.
It was at least five minutes when she reappeared, minus the new gown, an angry light in her big, black eyes.
"What's the matter, Imp?" questioned Ethel concernedly.
For answer, Adrienne laid a warning finger to her lips with a mysterious wag of her curly head toward the curtained doorway.
Her finger still on her lips, she picked up a pencil from the writing table and scribbled industriously for a moment or two on a pad of paper. Silently she handed the pad to Judith, who read it, opened her eyes very wide and passed the pad to Ethel. Ethel, in turn, handed it to Norma.
Suddenly Adrienne broke the silence; speaking in purposely loud tones.
"I have the great secret to tell you, girls. It is of a certainty most amazing. Wait until I return. I shall be absent from the room but a moment. Then you shall hear much that is interesting."
Flashing to the door, she paused, frantically beckoning her friends to follow her. Next instant the four had made a noiseless exit into the hall and were grouped before the door of the next room.
Very cautiously, Adrienne's small fingers sought the door knob and turned it. Slowly, soundlessly, she opened the door and stepped cat-footed into the room. A little line of three, emulating her stealthy movement, tip-toed after her into a room empty of occupants.
Straight to a curtained doorway Adrienne flitted, followed by her faithful shadows. Sweeping the chintz curtain aside with a lightning movement of her hand, she paused.
Looking over her shoulder, three girls saw a motionless figure lying flat on the closet floor. In that fraction of a second the figure suddenly acquired motion and speech. A scramble, an appalled "Oh!" and a very angry and thoroughly frightened girl was on her feet, confronting Adrienne. Her companions had now fallen back a little from the doorway. The listener now made a futile attempt at composure.
"What—why——" she gasped.
"Come out of this closet, dishonorable one," commanded Adrienne sternly. "Ah, but it is I who had the luck to discover you in the act of listening. Had you not too hastily shut the register when you heard me enter the closet on the other side, I should never have guessed. Come out instantly."
The imperious repetition of the command served its purpose. Adrienne backed out of the closet into the room, followed by Elsie Noble. The latter's small black eyes refused to meet those of her accuser. The blazing red of her cheeks betrayed her utter humiliation.
For a brief instant no one spoke. Then Elsie recovered speech.
"Get out—of—my—room, you—spies!" she stammered in a furious, rage-choked voice.
"Ah, but it is you who are the great spy!" scornfully exclaimed Adrienne. "There is no longer the mystery. So you must have listened often to Ethel and myself as we privately talked. Have you then no shame to be thus so small—so contemptible?"
"No, I haven't. I——"
Elsie's attempt to brazen things out ended almost as soon as it began. Her guilty, shifting gaze had come to rest on Norma's grave, sweet face. It wore an expression of wondering pity. Elsie turned and bolted straight for her couch bed. She threw herself downward upon it, beating the pillows with her clenched fists, in a fury of tempestuous chagrin.
"I think we'd best go, girls." It was Norma who spoke. "Alicia will soon be in. I don't believe we'd care to have even her know about this. Perhaps it would be just as well for us to forget that it's happened."
This charitable view of the matter brought Elsie's head from the pillow with a jerk. She sat up and stared hard at Norma, as if unable to credit the latter's plea for clemency in her behalf.
"I am satisfied to have thus solved a mystery. Now I wish to forget it." Adrienne made a sweeping gesture, as though to blot out the disagreeable incident with a wave of her hand.
"It certainly wouldn't be a pleasant memory," dryly agreed Judith. "Anyhow, we know now something we've wanted to know for a long time. That's about all that one feels like saying, except that one hopes it won't happen again."
"I guess it won't. Let's go, girls," was all that Ethel said.
Without another word the quartette turned to the door, leaving Elsie to her own dark meditations. She could hardly believe that she had thus easily escaped. It appeared that these girls whom she had been so sure she despised, had no mind for retaliation. They were simply disgusted with her. For the first time, a dim realization of her own unworthiness forced itself upon Elsie.
It was not strong enough to impel her to run after those who had just disappeared and apologize for her fault. Nevertheless, Adrienne's accusing question, "Have you then no shame to be thus so small; so contemptible?" rang in her ears. It dawned painfully upon her that she was ashamed of herself. More, that she was done with eavesdropping for good and all.
Early in the year she had stumbled upon the discovery that the register in the dress closet could be efficiently used as a listening post. Its position, low in the wall between the two closets, made it possible for her to hear plainly the conversation of those in the next room when both sides of the register stood open. This state of matters had existed when first she made the discovery. More, the side opening into the dress closet belonging to Adrienne and Ethel had remained open.
This proved conclusively to Elsie that she was alone in her discovery. Fearful lest Alicia should note the sound of voices proceeding from the next room, she had been careful to keep the register closed whenever Alicia was present in their room. At times when the latter was absent, Elsie had noiselessly opened it and taken up her position in the closet as an eavesdropper. Now she began miserably to wish that she had never done it.
Meanwhile, Adrienne's first move on re-entering her room was to dash into the adjoining closet and close the treacherous register with an energetic hand. To block further listening, she promptly stowed a suitcase on end against it.
"Voila! I have now remedied the trouble," she announced, as she emerged from the closet. "We shall not need that register to give the heat to us. I have closed it and placed against it the suitcase. Strange we never before noticed."
"Better late than never," commented Judith. "Funny the way our little mystery was solved, wasn't it?"
"I should never have known, had she not made the noise in closing the register on her side," explained Adrienne. "I had but bent over to lift the box containing my new gown when I noticed the register, heard the sound and, of a sudden, grew suspicious. I recalled that it could not be Alicia. So I was most determined to know if my suspicion was the idle one. It was not. You saw for yourselves. It was all most disagreeable. I had the feeling of shame myself to thus discover this girl listening."
"So had I," echoed Ethel.
"It was rather horrid," declared Judith. "Maybe it will teach her a much-needed lesson. The ignoble Noble is a splendid name for her. I'm proud of myself for having thought of it."
"I think she was really ashamed of herself," Norma said quietly. "I couldn't help feeling a little bit sorry for her. She pretended to be very defiant, when all the time she looked humiliated and miserable. I believe she was truly sorry, but couldn't bring herself to say so."
"She will too soon forget," shrugged Adrienne. "A few minutes with her cousin, that most detestable Seaton one, and her regrets will vanish. Once you said, Judy, that we should solve our little mystery when we least thought. So you are indeed the prophet. We can expect no gratitude from this girl, because we have thus overlooked her fault. Still, I have the feeling that she will trouble us no more. Voila! It is sufficient."
Adrienne's prediction that a few moments with Marian Seaton would effectually banish Elsie Noble's remorse, provided she felt remorse, proved not altogether correct. The beginning on next day of the mid-year examinations served as a partial escape valve for Elsie's feeling of deep humiliation.
By the end of the week she was divided between remorse and resentment. The latter over-swaying her, she fell back on Marian for sympathy. Marian's sympathy was not specially satisfying. She actually laughed over Elsie's aggrieved narration of the affair of the dress closet, and coolly informed her cousin that she should have locked her door before attempting any such maneuver.
The only grain of consolation which she bestowed was, "You needn't feel so bad about what those sillies think of you. They'll have something more serious to think about before long. It's high time Maiz and I took a hand in things."
"What are you going to do?" Elsie sulkily demanded.
"You'll know when the time comes," was the brusque reply.
A reply that sent Elsie back to her room, sullenly wondering what Marian was "up to" now. Strangely enough, Marian's vague threat awoke within her a curious sense of uneasiness. She was not so keen for retaliation now. She darkly surmised that Marian intended somehow to make trouble for Judith Stearns and Norma about the last year's affair of the stolen gown. Once she had been ready to believe Marian's assertion that Judith had been guilty of theft. She was not nearly so ready now to believe it.
As for Norma! Elsie could still see Norma's sweet face, with its gentle blue eyes pityingly bent on her. Marian might say all she pleased. Norma Bennett was fine and honest to the core. She had always secretly admired Norma for her wonderful talent. Now she admired Norma for herself. If Marian undertook to injure Norma——Elsie set her thin lips in a fashion denoting decision.
Mid-year came and went, however, with nothing to disturb the outward serenity of Madison Hall. A brief season of jubilation followed the trial of examinations. The new college term began with the usual flurry accompanying the rearranging of recitation programs and getting settled in classes. Basket-ball ardor was revived and practice resumed by the freshman and sophomore teams, pending the second game to be played on the third Saturday in February.
On the Monday evening before the game, Marian Seaton and Maizie Gilbert held a private session with Mrs. Weatherbee. It lasted for half an hour and when the two girls emerged from the matron's office, they left behind them a most shocked and perplexed woman. The story which they had related to her would have seemed preposterous, save that it touched upon a private matter of her own that had of late vaguely annoyed her.
For some time after the two had left her office, she wrestled with the difficulty which confronted her. Nor had she decided upon a course of action when she retired that night. For two days she continued in doubt, before she was able to make up her mind regarding the handling of the troublesome problem.
After dinner on Wednesday evening she sent the maid upstairs with certain instructions and promptly retired to her room.
"Mrs. Weatherbee wants to see us in her room?" marveled Judith, addressing Molly, the maid who had delivered the message. "Are you sure she said her room?"
"Yes, Miss Judith. That's what she said," returned Molly positively. "She said please come right away."
"That means us." Judith turned to Jane as Molly vanished. "Now why do you suppose she wants to see us in her room? She must have something very private to say or she'd talk with us in her office."
"I don't like it at all!" Jane exclaimed with knitted brows. "Something's gone wrong. But what? Can you think of any reason for it?"
"No, I can't. We haven't committed any horrible crimes that I can recall," returned Judith lightly. "Come on. We might as well go and find out the meaning of this thusness. We should worry. We haven't done anything to deserve a call-down."
One look at Mrs. Weatherbee's grave face as she admitted them to her room convinced both that something disagreeable was impending.
"Sit down, girls," the matron invited, in her usual reserved fashion. "I have sent for Miss Bennett. She will be here in a moment."
This merely added to Jane's and Judith's perplexity. Jane shot a bewildered glance toward Judith, as the two silently seated themselves. Directly a light rapping at the door announced Norma's arrival. She was also formally greeted and requested to take a seat.
For a moment the matron surveyed the trio as though undetermined how to address them. When she finally spoke, there was a note of hesitation in her voice.
"A very peculiar story has been told me," she said, "which intimately concerns you three girls, particularly Miss Stearns. Much as I dislike the idea, I am obliged, as matron of Madison Hall, to investigate it.
"Certain students at the Hall have made very serious charges against you, Miss Stearns. These charges are partially based on something that occurred here last year, of which I had no knowledge. I——"
"Mrs. Weatherbee! I insist on knowing at once what these charges are!"
Judith was on her feet, her usually good-natured face dark with righteous indignation.
"Sit down, Miss Stearns," commanded the matron not ungently. "I intend to go into this unpleasant matter fully with you. A valuable diamond ring belonging to Miss Seaton and a diamond and sapphire pin belonging to Miss Gilbert have disappeared. Though 'Lost' notices were posted regarding these articles, their owners have come to me stating their private belief that you are responsible for their disappearance."
"But surely you can't believe any such thing about me!" Judith cried out in distress. "Do you realize that those two girls actually accuse me of being a thief?"
"Wait a moment, please." The matron raised a protesting hand. "Let me finish what I wished to say. Miss Seaton does not believe you guilty of intentional theft. She accused you of being a kleptomaniac. She also accuses Miss Allen and Miss Bennett of knowing it and aiding you in keeping your failing a secret."
"What?" almost shouted Judith.
"Oh, this is too much!" It was Jane who now sprang furiously up from her chair, her gray eyes flashing. "I won't endure it. I insist, Mrs. Weatherbee, that you send for these girls and let us face them."
"Yes, send for them! I won't leave this room until Marian Seaton takes back every single thing she's said about me," was Judith's wrathful ultimatum.
"I was about to suggest when you and Miss Allen interrupted me that I had thought it advisable to bring you girls together. Still, I deemed it only fair to let you understand the situation beforehand," stated the matron rather stiffly. "I have already sent Miss Seaton and Miss Gilbert word to come here at eight o'clock. It lacks only five minutes of eight. They will be here directly. We will not go further in this matter until they come. You will oblige me by resuming your chairs."
Mrs. Weatherbee's expression was that of a martyr. She was in for a very disagreeable session and she knew it. Marian's accusation against Judith made necessary an investigation. It had come to a point where Judith's honesty must be either conclusively proved or disproved beyond all shadow of doubt. If Judith, as Marian boldly declared, were really a kleptomaniac, she was a menace to Madison Hall.
Ordinarily Mrs. Weatherbee would have been slow to believe such a thing. The fact, however, that the silk sweater which she had intrusted to Judith to mail had never reached its destination, had implanted distrust in the matron's mind. To have recently learned that Judith had been exhibiting to her girl friends a sweater that answered to the description of the one she had knitted for her niece was decidedly in line with her private suspicions. Neither had she forgotten Judith's laughing assertion to the effect that she was not sure she could be trusted not to run off with the sweater.
Jane and Judith reluctantly reseating themselves, an embarrassing silence fell. Each of the three girls was busy racking her brain to recall the circumstance of last year upon which Marian Seaton had based her charge. None could bring back any of that nature in which Marian had figured.
The sound of approaching footfalls, followed by a light knock at the door, came as a relief to the waiting four. Next instant Marian and Maizie had stepped into the room in response to the matron's "Come in."
A bright flush sprang to Marian's cheeks as she glimpsed the trio of stern-faced girls. She had not anticipated being thus so quickly brought face to face with those she had maligned. Maizie appeared merely sleepily amused.
"Kindly be seated, girls." Mrs. Weatherbee motioned them to an upholstered settee near the door.
Casting a baleful glance at Jane, Marian complied with the terse invitation. Maizie dropped lazily down beside her, her slow smile in evidence. Matters promised to be interesting.
"Miss Seaton," the matron immediately plunged into the business at hand, "you may repeat to Miss Stearns, Miss Allen and Miss Bennett what you have already told me concerning the affair of last year. Miss Stearns has been informed of your charges against her. She wishes to defend herself."
"I certainly do," emphasized Judith, "and I shall make you take it all back, too, Miss Seaton."
"I'm sorry I can't oblige you by taking it all back," sneered Marian. "I can merely repeat a little of a conversation that occurred between you and Miss Allen in which you condemned yourself."
"Very well, repeat it," challenged Judith coolly.
As nearly as she could remember, Marian repeated the talk between Jane and Judith, to which she had dishonorably listened on the night of the freshman frolic.
"You were heard to admit that you had stolen a gown from Edith Hammond," she triumphantly accused. "That Edith blamed Miss Bennett and that she confessed you had stolen it. Also that Miss Allen settled for it and you all agreed to keep it a secret. Worse yet, you and Miss Allen only laughed and joked about what you called 'your fatal failing.' Deny if you can that you two had such a conversation."
During this amazing recital the faces of at least three listeners had registered a variety of expressions. Marian's spiteful challenge met with unexpected results. Of a sudden the trio burst into uncontrolled laughter.
"Girls," rebuked Mrs. Weatherbee sharply, "this is hardly a time for laughter. Miss Stearns, do you or do you not deny that you and Miss Allen held the conversation Miss Seaton accuses you of holding?"
"Of course we did," cheerfully answered Judith, her mirthful features sobering.
"Then you——"
"We were in the dressing room on the night of the freshman frolic when it took place," broke in Jane. "May I ask where you were, Miss Seaton, when you overheard it?"
Jane's gray eyes rested scornfully upon Marian as she flashed out her question.
"I—I wasn't anywhere," snapped Marian. "I—someone else overheard it."
"Then 'someone else' should have taken pains to learn the truth before spreading malicious untruth," tensely condemned Jane.
Turning to the matron, she said bitterly:
"Mrs. Weatherbee, this whole story is simply spite-work; nothing else. When I have explained the true meaning of Judith's and my talk together in the dressing-room, you will understand everything. Judith's fatal failing is not kleptomania. It's merely absent-mindedness."
Rapidly Jane narrated the incident of the missing white lace gown, belonging to Edith Hammond, in which herself, Judith and Norma had figured in the previous year. She finished with:
"I shall ask you to write to Edith for corroboration of my story. I must also insist on knowing the name of the girl who overheard our talk. She must be told the facts. We cannot afford to allow such injurious gossip to be circulated about any of us. Judith in particular. Further, it is ridiculous even to connect her with the disappearance of Miss Seaton's ring and Miss Gilbert's pin."
"Oh, is it?" cried Marian in shrill anger, "Just let me tell you that both the ring and the pin were stolen from our room. We posted a notice and offered a reward, hoping to get them back without raising a disturbance. It's easy enough for you to make up the silly tale you've just told. I don't believe it. You're only trying to cover the real truth by pretending that Miss Stearns is absent-minded. It's not hard to see through your flimsy pretext."
"That will do, Miss Seaton." Mrs. Weatherbee now took stern command of the situation. "I have no reason to believe that Miss Allen has not spoken the truth. This affair seems to consist largely of a misunderstanding, coupled with a good deal of spite work. You will oblige me by giving me the name of the girl who overheard the conversation."
Marian did not at once reply. Instead, she cast a hasty, inquiring glance at Maizie. The latter answered it with a slight smile and a nod of the head.
"It was my cousin, Miss Noble, who overheard the conversation," she reluctantly admitted. "She repeated it to me in confidence. She does not wish to be brought into this affair. You will kindly leave her out of it entirely."
"Your dictation is unbecoming, Miss Seaton," coldly reproved the matron. "I shall use my own judgment in this matter."
"You are all excused," she continued, addressing the ill-assorted group. "We will leave this matter as it stands for the present. When I have decided what to do, I will send for you again. Until then, not a word concerning it to anyone."
Marian and Maizie rose with alacrity. They had no desire to prolong the interview. It had not panned out to suit them. Jane's concise explanation of the gown incident had practically turned a serious offense into a laughable blunder. Mrs. Weatherbee undoubtedly believed Jane. After listening to her, she had not asked either Norma or Judith a single question. Instead, she had closed the discussion with a curtness that was not reassuring to the plotters.
"Elsie will have to help us out," were Marian's first words when she and Maizie reached their room. "She'll be raving when I tell her. She'll have to do it, though. If she doesn't, I'll threaten to tell all the girls about the way that little French snip caught her listening at the register."
"You might as well have owned up that it was you who listened outside the dressing-room," shrugged Maizie. "Then you could have passed the whole thing off as a misunderstanding. That would have ended it. Now we're both in for a fine lot of trouble."
"Then why did you nod your head when I looked at you?" asked Marian fiercely.
"Oh, just to keep things going," drawled Maizie. "I like to see those girls all fussed up about nothing. Besides, Weatherbee can't do anything very serious about our part of it. She can say we are mischief-makers and call us down and that's all. No one except ourselves knows the truth about the ring and the pin. That's the only thing that could really get us into trouble."
"No one will ever know, either," declared Marian. "They're both in the tray of my trunk. We'll take them home with us at Easter and leave them there. That will be safest."
"You certainly leaped before you looked, this time," chuckled Maizie. "That gown business was funny."
"Well, how was I to know? I heard Judy Stearns say she stole it," retorted Marian testily. "The whole thing sounded suspicious enough to hang our losses on. Just the same I shall keep on saying now that I believe she stole our stuff. Mrs. Weatherbee needn't think she can make me keep quiet. I have a perfect right to my own belief and I'll see to it that others besides myself share it."
In Jane's and Judith's room a highly disgusted trio of girls held session directly they had left Mrs. Weatherbee. Far from feeling utterly crushed and humiliated by Marian's accusations, Judith was filled with lofty disdain of Marian's far-fetched attempt to discredit her.
"I suppose I ought to feel dreadfully cut up over being accused of theft," she said, "but I can't. The whole business seems positively unreal. Jane, do you believe it was the ignoble Noble who overheard us talking that night?"
"No; I think it was either Maizie or Marian," returned Jane positively. "Didn't you see them exchange glances? Then Maizie nodded. They had agreed to put the blame on Miss Noble."
"I wonder if she had agreed to let them," remarked Norma. "I suppose she had. Otherwise, Marian wouldn't have dared use her name."
"I wonder what Mrs. Weatherbee will do about it," emphasized Jane. "There's more than weird unreality to it, Judy. You mustn't forget that Marian has accused you of taking her ring and Maizie's pin. She hasn't withdrawn that accusation. She won't withdraw it. I am very sure of that."
"Well, she needn't," retorted Judith. "We know how much it's worth. So does Mrs. Weatherbee. You heard what she said about spite work. She's very much displeased with Marian and Maizie. She'll probably send for us to-morrow night and them, too. Then she'll lay down the law and order the whole thing dropped. She must see herself how unjust it is. Your explanation about Edith's dress was enough to show that. Just because the pin and ring are missing is no sign that I should be accused of their disappearance. Besides, they've been posted as 'Lost.' That clears me, doesn't it?"
"It ought to, but it doesn't," replied Jane soberly. "Marian and Maizie will go on insinuating hateful things about you, even if they are ordered to drop the matter. Then there's Miss Noble. She's on the outs with us and on Marian's side. Unless we can do something ourselves to make these girls drop the affair, they won't drop it."
"If Mrs. Weatherbee can't stop them, we certainly can't," Judith responded rather anxiously. "I guess, though, that she can. She's awfully determined, you know. I'm going to put my faith in her and not worry any more about it. I dare say if a thorough search were made of Marian's and Maizie's room the lost jewelry would be found," she predicted bitterly.
"That's precisely my opinion," nodded Jane. "If it comes to it I shall tell Mrs. Weatherbee so. I'd rather wait a little, though, to see how things pan out. This is Wednesday. I hope it will be settled and off our minds before Saturday. We'd hate to go into the game with the least bit of shadow hanging over us."
"Oh, I guess it will be settled before then." Nevertheless Judith looked a trifle solemn. Despite her declaration that she did not intend to worry, Jane's prediction had taken uncomfortable hold on her.
"I think she ought to have settled it to-night," was Norma's blunt opinion. "It wouldn't surprise me if she really wrote to Edith Hammond. Mrs. Weatherbee's peculiar. I know, because I've worked for her. She probably believes Jane, yet she's in doubt about something. I could tell that by the way she acted."
"You don't believe she suspects me of stealing those girls' jewelry, do you?" questioned Judith in quick alarm.
"I hardly think that," Norma said slowly. "I only know she's not quite in sympathy with you, Judy. If she had been she wouldn't have hesitated to settle things then and there."
Norma's surmise was more accurate than not. Marian Seaton's sneering assertion that alleged absent-mindedness on Judith's part cloaked a grave failing had not been entirely lost on the matron. She could not forget the missing sweater. Was it possible, she wondered, that there might be truth in Marian's accusation?
Privately she resolved to do three things before passing final judgment. She would write to Edith for corroboration of the gown story. She would make further inquiry, concerning Judith's absent-mindedness, of Dorothy Martin. She would have a private talk with Elsie Noble. This last was solely to determine whether Marian had spoken the truth in regard to Elsie's having overheard the fateful conversation. She was as doubtful of Marian as she was of poor Judith.
Mrs. Weatherbee intended to delay making inquiry of either Dorothy or Elsie until she had received a reply to a special delivery letter which she had dispatched to Edith Allison, nee Edith Hammond.
In the interim Judith had gone from hopefulness to anxiety and from anxiety to nervousness. In consequence, she failed to play on Saturday with her usual snap and vigor, and had not her teammates put forth an extra effort, her unintentional lagging would have lost them the game. As it was they won it by only two points.
Completely disgusted with herself, Judith broke down in the dressing-room and sobbed miserably. A proceeding which made Christine, Barbara and Adrienne wonder what in the world had happened to upset cheery, light-hearted Judy.
Back in her room, Judith cried harder than ever.
"I'm all upset," she wailed, her head on Jane's comforting shoulder. "I don't see why Mrs. Weatherbee hasn't sent for us about that miserable business. It's got on my nerves."
"Never mind," soothed Jane. "If she doesn't let us know about it by Monday afternoon, I'll go to her myself. If I knew positively that Marian Seaton wrote the letter that nearly lost me my room, I'd tell Mrs. Weatherbee. It would only be giving her what she deserves."
Monday morning, however, brought Mrs. Weatherbee a letter from Edith Hammond, over which she smiled, then looked uncompromisingly severe. Her stern expression spelled trouble for someone.
Meanwhile, on the same morning, Jane also received a letter which made her catch her breath in sheer amazement. It was from Eleanor Lane and stated: