live in, "five or six of us in a row and we're never lonely,"
finished Nancy; "but then no one is lonely at York."

By this time they had crossed by a cloister to South House and were
standing at the House Mistress's door.

"Miss Marlowe must be a very popular person," thought Judith. Outside
the green baize door was a chattering mob of girls, all apparently
talking at the top of their voices. Indeed, it seemed to Judith that
they were screaming.

"Nancy, _darling_!" cried one, and Nancy was literally dragged from
Judith by several impetuous young persons who all talked at once.

"Glorious time" . . . "Did you?" . . . "Temagami" . . . "camped out for
three weeks" . . . "Indian guides" . . . "_Such_ diving" . . . "Heavenly
time" . . . "Murray Bay" . . .

Then a louder voice--

"Miss Marlowe wants Peggy Forrest."

"Here, Piggy, hurry along"--and a fat girl was propelled through the
crowd.

"Jane, my dear, I thought you were never coming," heralded a new
arrival.

"Miss Marlowe is a brick; we are to have thirty-three."

Squeals of delight and the retreat of three inseparables.

Judith began to feel that she would drown amidst all the noise, but
Nancy had a tight grip of her arm again, and at last it was her turn at
the door.

Judith never lost that first picture of Miss Marlowe in her study, a
pleasant, sun-flooded room, low bookcases, the gleam of brass, colorful
pictures, a cosy fire, and Miss Marlowe herself, grey-eyed,
ruddy-haired, and low-voiced. The quiet voice began to work a magic, and
after a few minutes' chat Judith felt less like a lost soul and more
like a normal girl again. Then Nancy was summoned from without.

"Judith is to be in number twenty-five, Nancy; will you take her up and
see that she is settled? Her trunk is there already; it came this
morning. You can be very busy at once, Judith"--and Miss Marlowe's smile
was friendly and comforting.

Nancy squeezed Judith's hand impulsively as they left the room to make
way for other girls.

"Twenty-five! I _am_ glad you are in our set of cubicles."

Twenty-five proved to be the tiniest room Judith had ever seen, more
like a ship's cabin than a room, she thought, surveying her new abode
with disfavour. A couch-bed, writing-desk and bookcase, a bureau, a
wicker chair--how was there room for them all? And how dreadful to have
only half a wall--well, three quarters of a wall between you and your
neighbour!

There were five of these little c