hing
to do."

"Yes." She heaved a deep, long sigh. "I know that. I have worked it all
out as an original in geometry. For instance: Given, an unselfish mother
with a special ambition for her rebellious selfish daughter. Problem: to
decide which one should sacrifice her own wishes. Let the mother's desire
equal this straight line, and the daughter's inclination equal this
straight line at right angles to the other. To prove----"

"See here, little girl," I interrupted her kindly but firmly, "no wonder
your mother dreads the effect of mathematical studies on your tender
brain! I said farewell to geometry exactly two years and four months ago.
I did the examination in final trig three times. Comprehend? Now run into
your own room and get that letter written quick. If you are very
agreeable indeed, I may let you enclose the proof sheets, who knows?"

"Thank you," she exclaimed in impulsive joy, "that will be lovely. Mother
will be so pleased." Then the vision of coming woe in exile from beloved
calculations descended upon her, and she hugged the paper figures so
convulsively that the sharpest, most beautiful angle of the biggest
polyhedron cracked clear across from edge to edge. They were perfectly
splendid clean edges, edges that even I could see had been formed by the
carefully loving hands of a mathematical prodigy.

After that day came a pause in the drama (Adele declared that it was
really a tragedy caused by one life trying to bend another to its will)
until the day when the new issue of the Monthly arrived in the noon mail.
As Robbie Belle was still in the infirmary of course, the rest of the
board took hold of her share of the work. We divided the list of
subscribers between us, and started out to distribute the magazines at
the different rooms in the various dormitories.

[Illustration: SHE WAVED AN OPEN LETTER IN HER HAND]

Part of my route happened to include the neighborhood of the sanctum.
Just as I turned into Maria's alleyway to leave the three copies always
provided for every contributor, she came dashing out of her room in such
a headlong rush that I barely saved my equilibrium by a rapid jump to one
side. As soon as she could control her own impetus she whirled and bore
down upon me once more.

"Mercy, mercy!" I cried, backing into a corner by the hinges and holding
my pile of magazines in front as a rampart, "don't be an automobile any
more."

She waved an open letter in her hand.

"Mother says