on studying, of course."

"Until you died?" whispered Elizabeth, appalled at the thought of a
life-long vista of green eye-shades and Miss Millses and mathematics.

Jean opened her book. "You can't understand," she said patiently.
"You haven't any ambition."

It was the old, old accusation under which Elizabeth had always lived.
She thought of Annie's cosy home which three Visions now made radiant,
of John Coulson's love and devotion, and her heart answered the
accusation and declared it false. She wondered if other girls were as
silently ambitious as she, and why this best of all ambitions must be
always locked away in secret, while lesser ones might be proudly
proclaimed upon the house-tops.

"Evidently I haven't," she said, pulling her cloak about her with a
laugh. "I'm a butterfly. Gracious! I believe I hear the Mills
rumbling. I'm going to get out of the way."

"Wait and talk to her. She'll fire you with a desire to do something.
She's the brainiest woman that's ever come under his tuition, Professor
Telford says."

"I haven't a doubt of it," said Elizabeth, with a look of alarm.
"That's just the reason I'm scared of her. She's always in a sort of
post-graduate attitude of mind when I'm round, and it makes me feel
young and foolish. Good-night. I'm going up to molest the boys."

"Don't bother them long, Lizzie--there's a good girl. John needs every
minute."

But Elizabeth had caught her cloak around her and was already fleeing
up the second flight of stairs. She barely escaped Miss Mills, who was
coming down the hall. Miss Mills did not approve of Jean Gordon's
fashionable sister, and Elizabeth feared her clever, sarcastic tongue.

John and Charles Stuart shared a bedroom and sitting-room on the top
flat. Elizabeth tapped on the door of the latter room, and in response
to a "come in," entered. They were already at work. Her brother was
doubled up over a table close to a reading-lamp; the Pretender was
walking the floor note-book in hand. They were men now, these two,
both in their last year at college. John Gordon had the same dark,
solemn face of boyhood, lit by that sudden gleaming smile which made
him so resemble his sister. Charles Stuart had changed more. He was
graver and quieter, and a great man in his year at 'Varsity by reason
of his prowess on the public platform. Everyone said MacAllister would
be sure to go into politics, but Charles Stuart, remembering the
wistful look