er of any wrong or make complaint?"

"No, not exactly. I think she believed that Miss More's behavior
somewhere reflected on the college, and she considered it her duty to
report the circumstances. Or maybe it was appearances--it seems now that
it must have been only appearances. That started the trouble, and Miss
More resented it. She was stubborn or indifferent about some
requirements. I don't remember quite what, and Elizabeth never liked to
talk about it. Elizabeth wrote to her every week until she--until she
left us." Robbie's lip twitched suddenly. Bea saw it and gently passing
her arm through the other's arm drew her on to join the class assembled
at the amphitheatre.

The next day brought commencement. Bea from her place among the rows of
white-clad seniors in the body of the chapel could by bending forward
slightly catch a glimpse of Miss More's profile at the head of the front
pew at the right. When she raised her eyes she could see Miss Whiton's
coldly regular features conspicuous in their clean-cut fairness among the
younger instructors in the choir-seats behind the trustees on the
platform. Bea had never liked Miss Whiton. It seemed to her now, as she
studied the immobile face, that she had always recognized there a
suggestion of the self-righteous Pharisee. There could be nothing but
misunderstanding and antagonism between the possessor of such a
countenance and Miss More with those eyes of hers, that nose and that
mouth. Bea's labors over the classes in manners had included some
research in the subject of physiognomy. Now she leaned forward to secure
another view of that profile in the front pew. Then she settled back with
the contented sigh of an investigator whose surmise has proved correct.
Miss More's features certainly expressed an impulsive, reckless and
lovable temperament as opposed to Miss Whiton's conscientious and
calculating prudence. Oh, yes, there was conscience enough in the icily
handsome face among the instructors. It was conscience doubtless that had
driven her across the campus to speak to Miss More on Class Day morning.
Bea sighed again, this time with a faint twinge of sympathy. She
generally meant well herself. A conscience was a very queer thing--she
thought so still even if she had heard it all explained and analyzed in
senior ethics.

"Surgite." That was Prexie's voice. The class rose in obedience to the
word. Bea found herself standing with the others while the Latin
sentences