wondering why she
liked Mildred, when Mildred did not like Nancy. Perhaps,--she was
unwilling to admit this supposition, but it formed itself hazily in her
mind--perhaps she herself did not _really_ like Mildred. Perhaps way
down inside of her she shared her sister's distrust of the girl. But
why didn't she admit it? Because she was flattered with being the
chosen friend of the most important girl in the school? Because she
had accepted favors from Mildred? She blushed involuntarily as these
thoughts glided through her mind.

She did not want to quarrel with Mildred, even when she knew that she
was right and her roommate in the wrong, because she hoped that Mildred
would invite her to visit her, and that through Mildred she might have
some good times. She wished that Mildred wouldn't make mean little
remarks about Nancy, because she felt ashamed of herself for not openly
resenting them.

At length, however, she threw aside her book, and lent her rapt
attention to Mildred's chatter about the coming holidays. In a little
while other girls joined them, and the next hour of gossip drove away
her uneasiness for the coming day, and her uncomfortable reflections.

The last examination which was in Latin ended on Friday at noon. On
the Wednesday of the following week the reports had been posted on the
bulletin-board, and at the eleven o'clock recess some twenty girls were
clustered around them struggling to get near enough to read their
marks. Those who were closest called out the percentages to the others
who pelted them with agitated questions.

"You got seventy-six in French, Denise. Good enough. Good heavens,
Nancy Prescott, you made _ninety-two_ in history, and Charlotte Spencer
_ninety-four_. Ye gods and little fishes, I passed my
Algebra--sixty-eight! Catch me, somebody; I'm going to faint."

"Kay Leonard flunked everything but her French," whispered another.
"Well, it won't disturb her at all. What did I make in Latin?"

"Eighty-eight. Good for you. Drinkwater doesn't make anyone a present
of her marks. I just scraped through. I say, Alma! Alma Prescott,
what happened to you on your Latin?"

"Why?" asked Alma, peering over Allison's shoulder, and turning a
little pale. "Did--did I flunk very badly?"

"Why, it just says 'Cancelled' after your name. Didn't you take your
exam?"

"Of course I took it!"

"Well, there--you can see for yourself. It just has 'Cancelled.'"

A queer silence f