ila stood motionless so long that Bea had time to notice the ticking of
her watch. Then she turned slowly around from the window.

"And this is friendsh----"

[Illustration: LILA STOOD STARING OUT AT THE SNOW]

"Oh!" squealed Bea, "oh, oh, oh! Ha, ha, ha!" Flinging her arms out
over the desk she buried her face upon them and shook with
uncontrollable laughter.

Lila crimsoned to her hair, then went white with anger. Without a word
she walked into her own room and locked the door.

Half an hour later when she rose from the bed and began to pour out a
basinful of water to bathe her smarting eyes, she heard a rustle on the
threshold. Glancing quickly around she saw a square of white paper being
thrust beneath the door. It was a letter from home on the five o'clock
mail. Lila picked it up and opened it listlessly. The fit of weeping had
left her exhausted.

"My darling daughter," she read,

"This is a hasty note to say that your great aunt Sarah is on her way
east, and will stop at the college for a day's visit with you. I wish to
caution you, dear girl, against even the semblance of a slight in your
treatment of her. Do not forget to inquire after Gyp the terrier, Rex the
angora cat, Dandy the parrot, and Ellen the maid. Your aunt is
exceedingly sensitive about such small attentions. You might invite your
friends to meet her at afternoon tea, and if you can manage it tactfully
you might warn them not to discuss topics with which she is unacquainted.
She has, as you know, a very peculiar disposition. The least suspicion of
neglect or hint of criticism exasperates her beyond endurance. In her
childhood she suffered continually because of this oversensitive nature.
I suspect that she made no effort to conquer the fault. Indeed so far as
I may judge from her present attitude, she has always considered it a
proof of superior delicacy and refinement. She has cherished her
selfishness instead of fighting it. As a consequence her life has been
embittered and unspeakably lonely. I believe that she has not a friend on
earth except her pets, and even Gyp has learned not to frisk with joy at
sight of anybody but his mistress.

"I am sure I may trust you, dear, to make her visit as happy as possible,
although in truth it seems irony to speak of real happiness in connection
with such a temperament. You may not be aware that even your Aunt Sarah
was once the heroine of a romance. He was an extraordinarily fine man, and
she wou