"HAVE you heard the news?" said Rosalind Merton. She skipped into Miss Day's room as she spoke.

"No; what?" asked that untidy person, turning round and dropping a lot of ribbon which she was converting into bows. "What's your news, Rose? Out with it. I expect it's a case of 'great cry and little wool.' However, if you want a plain opinion from me——"

"I don't ask for your opinion, Annie. I'm quite accustomed to the scornful way in which you have received all my words lately. I need not tell you what I have heard at all, unless you wish to hear it."

"But, of course, I wish to hear it, Rosie; you know that as well as I do. Now sit down and make yourself at home; there's a dear."

Rose allowed herself to be mollified.

"Well," she said, sinking back into Miss Day's most comfortable chair, "the feud between a certain small person and a certain great person grows apace."

Miss Day's small eyes began to dance.

"You know I am interested in that subject," she said. She flopped down on the floor by Rosalind Merton's side. "Go on, my love," she murmured; "describe the development of the enmity."

"Little things show the way the wind is blowing," pursued Rose. "I was coming along the corridor just now, and I met the angelic and unworldly Priscilla. Her eyelids were red as if she had been crying. She passed me without a word."

"Well?"

"That's all."

"Rose, you really are too provoking. I thought you had something very fine to tell."

"The feud grows," pursued Rose. "I know it by many signs. Prissie is not half so often with Maggie as she used to be. Maggie means to get out of this friendship, but she is too proud not to do it gradually. There is not a more jealous girl in this college than Maggie, but neither is there a prouder. Do you suppose that anything under the sun would allow her to show her feelings because that little upstart dared to raise her eyes to Maggie's adorable beau, Mr. Hammond? But oh, she feels it; she feels it down in her secret soul. She hates Prissie; she hates this beautiful, handsome lover of hers for being civil to so commonplace a person. She is only waiting for a decent pretext to drop Prissie altogether. I wish with all my heart I could give her one."

As she spoke Rosalind shaded her eyes with her hand; her face looked full of sweet and thoughtful contemplation.

"Get your charming Prissie to flirt a little bit more," said Miss Day with her harsh laugh.

"I don't know that I can. I must not carry that brilliant idea to extremities, or I shall be found out."

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Bide my time."

Miss Day gave a listless sort of yawn.

"Let's talk of something else," she said impatiently. "What are you going to wear at the Elliot-Smith's party next week, Rose?"

"I have got a new white dress," said Rose in that voice of strong animation and interest which the mere mention of dress always arouses in certain people.

"Have you? What a lot of dresses you get!"

"Indeed, you are mistaken, Annie. I have the greatest difficulty in managing my wardrobe at all."

"Why is that? I thought your people not only belonged to the county, but were as rich as Jews."

"We are county people, of course," said Rose in her most affected manner, "but county people need not invariably be rich. The fact is my father has had some losses lately, and mother says she must be careful. I wanted a great many things, and she said she simply could not give them. Oh, if only that spiteful Miss Oliphant had not prevented my getting the sealskin jacket, and if she had not raised the price of Polly's pink coral!"

"Don't begin that old story again, Rose. When all is said and done, you have got the lovely coral. By the way, it will come in beautifully for the Elliot-Smith's party. You'll wear it, of course?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"What do you mean? Of course you'll wear it."

"I don't know. The fact is I have not paid the whole price for it yet."

"Haven't you really? You said you'd bring the money when you returned this term."

"Of course I thought I could, but I was absolutely afraid to tell mother what a lot the coral cost; and as she was so woefully short of funds, I had just to come away without the money. I never for a moment supposed I should have such ill luck."

"It is awkward. What are you going to say to Polly Singleton?'

"I don't know. I suppose you could not help me, Annie?"

"I certainly couldn't. I never have a penny to bless myself with. I don't know how I scrape along."

Rosalind sighed. Her pretty face looked absolutely careworn.

"Don't fret, Rose," said Miss Day after a pause; "whether you have paid for the coral or not, you can wear it at the Elliot-Smith's."

"No, alas! that's just what I can't do. The fact is Polly is turning out awfully mean. She has come back this time with apparently an unlimited supply of pocket money, and she has been doing her best to induce me to sell her the coral back again."

"Well, why don't you? I'm sure I would, rather than be worried about it."

Miss Merton's face flushed angrily.

"Nothing will induce me to give up the coral," she said. "I bought my new white dress to wear with it. I have looked forward all during the holidays to showing it to Meta Elliot-Smith. It's the sort of thing to subdue Meta, and I want to subdue her. No, nothing will induce me to part with my lovely coral now."

"Well, my dear, keep it, of course, and pay for it how you can. It's your own affair. You have not yet explained to me, however, why, when it is in your possession, you can't wear it with your new dress at the Elliot-Smiths' next week."

"Because that wretched Polly has been invited also; and she is quite mean enough and underbred enough to walk up to me before every one and ask me to give her back her property."

"What fun if she did!" laughed Miss Day.

"Annie, you are unkind!"

"My dear, of course I don't mean what I say, but I can't help seeing the whole picture: you, so fine and so self-conscious and so— so perfect in all your appointments— and looking— for all you are a little thing, Rose— a good inch above every one else— and then our poor, good-natured, downright Polly catching sight of her unpaid-for ornaments round your sweet baby throat— all the John Bull in her instantly coming to the fore, and she demanding her rights in no measured terms. Oh, your face, Rosie! your face! and Meta Elliot-Smith's enjoyment— oh, how delicious the picture is! Dear Rosalind, do wear the coral, and please— please get me an invitation to the Elliot-Smiths'. I'll love you all my life if you give me leave to witness so lovely a spectacle!"

Miss Merton's face changed color several times while Annie Day was speaking. She clenched her small hands and tried hard to keep back such a torrent of angry words as would have severed this so-called friendship once and for all, but Rose's sense of prudence was greater even now than her angry passions. Miss Day was a useful ally— a dangerous foe.

With a forced laugh, which concealed none of her real feelings, she stood up and prepared to leave the room.

"You are very witty at my expense, Annie," she said. Her lips trembled. She found herself the next moment alone in the brightly lighted corridor.

It was over a week now since the beginning of the term. Lectures were once more in full swing, and all the inmates of St. Benet's were trying, each after her kind, for the several prizes which the life they were leading held out to them. Girls of all kinds were living under these roofs— the idle as well as the busy. Both the clever and the stupid were here, both the good and the bad. Rosalind Merton was a fairly clever girl. She had that smart sort of cleverness which often passes for wide knowledge. She was liked by many of her girl friends; she had the character of being rather good-natured; her pretty face and innocent manner, too, helped to win her golden opinions among the lecturers and dons.

Those who knew her well soon detected her want of sincerity, but then it was Rose's endeavor to prevent many people becoming intimately acquainted with her. She had all the caution which accompanies a deceitful character and had little doubt that she could pursue those pettinesses in which her soul delighted and yet retain a position as a good, innocent and fairly clever girl before the heads of the college.

Rose generally kept her angry passions in check, but, although she had managed not to betray herself while in Miss Day's room, now as she stood alone in the brilliantly lighted corridor, she simply danced with rage. Her small hands were clenched until the nails pierced the flesh and her delicately colored face became livid with passion.

At that moment she hated Annie Day— she hated Polly Singleton— she hated, perhaps, most of all Maggie Oliphant.

She walked down the corridor, her heart beating fast. Her own room was on another floor; to reach it she had to pass Miss Peel's and Miss Oliphant's rooms. As Rose was walking slowly down the corridor she saw a girl come out of Miss Oliphant's room, turn quickly in the opposite direction to the one from which she was coming, and, quickening her pace to a run, disappear from view. Rose recognized this girl: she was Priscilla Peel. Rose hastened her own steps and peeped into Maggie's room. To her surprise, it was empty; the door had swung wide open and the excited, perturbed girl could see into every corner. Scarcely knowing why she did it, she entered the room. Maggie's room was acknowledged to be one of the most beautiful in the college, and Rose said to herself that she was glad to have an opportunity to examine it unobserved.

She went and stood on the hearthrug and gazed around her; then she walked over to the bureau. S............