olemn conclave, Judith at her desk,
writing to her mother, found that the story of the week's doings centred
about Genevieve and the mysterious letter.

"She is hard to describe, Mummy," she wrote; "she isn't exactly pretty,
but her face changes so often when she is talking that she is
interesting to listen to. She doesn't play many games and I don't see
very much of her, but you remember I told you how clever she was as
Malvolio in 'Twelfth Night.' She acts awfully well and she just loves
doing it. And she's always getting frightfully fond of somebody and
feeling badly if they don't like her." Judith sat rolling her pen
absent-mindedly up and down her blotter as the picture of Genevieve
filled her mind.

Perhaps it was a matter of "thinking of angels and hearing their wings";
at any rate, just at this moment, Genevieve, returning from a fruitless
attempt to catch Catherine in her room, knocked at Judith's door.

"Come on down and see me, Judy," she begged; "I've got some biscuits and
some Washington coffee and I'll beg some hot water from Mrs. Bronson."

Judith who loved coffee needed no second bidding, and was soon enjoying
a steaming cup and listening to Genevieve's woes; but Genevieve was
scarcely well started on the subject of the letters when a heavy step
was heard in the corridor and she jumped up in alarm.

"Throw the coffee out the window, Judy," she begged--"that's Miss Watson
doing laundry--she's in Joan's room now." And with amazing swiftness she
emptied her laundry bag on the bed, covered the contents with her
eiderdown, spread out two dainty sets of immaculate French underwear,
and was seated with a darning-basket and a pair of stockings in her
hand, before the astonished Judith could take in the significance of her
actions.

"Come in," said Genevieve sweetly as Miss Watson knocked. "Oh, is that
you, Miss Watson? I'm just finishing my stockings."

Miss Watson, who was short-sighted and a bit indolent, hated the weekly
task of inspecting the newly returned laundry in search of missing
buttons and rents, all of which were to be recorded in her little black
book and checked off when the owners testified that the said garments
had been made whole. So remembering the immaculate clothes which awaited
her each week in Genevieve's room, she made a cursory examination of the
dainty undies and checked O.K. opposite Genevieve's name.

"There's a funny odor in here," she commented as she turned to go; "you
ha