of the disturbing face of "Larry, the
Locksmith."

The little company of girls made their way to the street, discussing the
merits of the various actors who had portrayed so admirably the roles
assigned to them. Arline, feeling rather ashamed of her brusque refusal
to countenance Kathleen West as a possible member of the club, slipped
her arm through Grace's, saying contritely, "I am awfully sorry I was so
cross, Grace."

Grace, whose mind was still fully occupied with the thought of the man
she had good reason to recognize, did not answer. Arline glanced
reproachfully at her, then withdrew her arm from Grace's with an
offended suddenness that caused Grace to cry apologetically: "Please
pardon me, Arline. What did you say?"

Arline, however, was now thoroughly incensed. She had apologized, and
Grace had not even taken the trouble to listen. Without answering, save
by an angry flash of her blue eyes, she walked on rapidly, overtaking
the Emerson twins, who were heading the little procession. Grace sprang
impulsively forward. Then, as Arline slipped between the twins,
laughingly taking hold of an arm of each, Grace fell back, deciding that
she would say nothing. She would write Arline a note that very night.

True to her resolve, the note was written and sent. At the end of a week
she had received no answer. Later she was greeted with a cold "good
afternoon" and a stiff little bow when she chanced to encounter Arline
on the campus. Remembering Arline's stubborn stand in regard to Ruth
during their sophomore year, Grace knew the dainty little girl's
resentment to be very real and lasting. She was also reasonably sure
that not even Ruth was aware of their estrangement. She wished she had
not seen that disturbing face. She wondered if she had been mistaken. No
doubt there were men in the world who bore a strong resemblance to
"Larry, the Locksmith." She blamed herself entirely for Arline's
withdrawal of friendship. If she had only heard and accepted the
apology! It was humiliating indeed to make an earnest apology to
unhearing ears.

"It serves you right, Grace Harlowe," she reflected, coming into the
living room late one afternoon. "I'm not sorry for you. I hope Arline
won't be too haughty at the club meeting to-morrow. It is such a shame.
I wanted to propose the 'Famous Fiction' dance as a Semper Fidelis
merry-making this year, and I can never talk enthusiastically of it
knowing she disapproves. Of course, I'll pret