Molly Brown's Junior Days. Speed Nell

remonstrated Nance, shocked at this unaccountable exhibition of temperament.

      Molly said nothing whatever, and presently she slipped off to bed.

      “We’ve all got our faults,” she kept saying to herself, but she was bitterly hurt, nevertheless.

      CHAPTER VI.

      “THE BEST LAID SCHEMES.”

      Judy did have her failings, the faults of an only child spoiled by indulgent parents. But they were only on the surface, impulsive flashes of irritability that never failed to be followed by deep, poignant regret when the tempest had passed.

      The next morning Molly was wakened by the fragrance of violets, and, opening her eyes, she looked straight into the heart of a big bunch of those flowers lying on her chest.

      “Goodness, I feel like a corpse,” she exclaimed.

      Scrawled on a card pinned to the purple tissue ribbon around the stems of the violets was the following inscription:

      “For dearest Molly from her devoted and loving Judy.”

      “The poor child must have got up early this morning and gone down to the village for them,” she said to Nance. “And she does hate getting up early, too.”

      Thus the coldness between the two girls came to a temporary end. Molly did not go to the Beta Phi House to dinner on Sunday. Millicent sent word that she was ill with a headache and would like to postpone the visit. Some of the Shakespeareans came to the apartment of the three girls to call one evening, but they were Judy’s friends, invited by her to drop in and have fudge, and Molly and Nance kept quiet and remained in the background. If Judy was working to get into the Shakespeareans, she should have the field to herself. The three visitors, seniors all of them, left early, but in some mysterious way the news of their call spread through the Quadrangle.

      “Which of you is boning for the ‘Shakespeareans’?” Minerva Higgins demanded of Nance next day.

      This irrepressible young person had already acquired a smattering of college slang and college gossip. But still she had not learned the difference between a freshman and a junior.

      Nance drew herself up haughtily.

      “Miss Higgins,” she said, “there are some things at Wellington that are never discussed.”

      “Excuse me,” said Minerva, making an elaborate bow.

      But Nance did not even notice the bow. She had gone on her way like an injured dignitary.