led to my expulsion from
college?"

The defiant ring of this abrupt question brought Bea to her sense of the
situation. She put out one hand to draw Robbie beyond earshot. But Robbie
did not notice her. She was already touching Miss More's arm.

"Miss More, pardon me. I have hurried to give you this. I--I think
Elizabeth would have enjoyed showing it to you. I--wish--she could have
been here to-day. She would have been--glad."

Miss More took the paper mechanically. "Thank you, Robbie Belle. Will you
wait one moment, dear? I want to speak to you." She turned again to the
older woman. "It may be an enlightening little tale," she began, "and
Miss Whiton plays a part in it. These are the facts."

Bea watched her, fascinated. The eyes seemed to be gazing away beyond the
evergreens at old, unhappy, far-off things. Slowly they returned to
nearer objects, dropped suddenly and caught for an instant upon some one
passing by. At sight of the swift gleam of bitter recognition, Bea
followed the direction, and beheld Miss Whiton. She looked back again in
time to see a wonderful change as Miss More's glance traveled
unconsciously to the paper in her hand.

Robbie's wistful regard was also lingering upon the paper.

"Elizabeth loved it all--the class--the whole college."

The trustee was evidently in haste. "And this enlightening little tale of
yours, Miss More? Pardon me for urging you on. The importance of the
issue--ah!" Bea saw her nod acquiescence in response to a gesture from
some one who was waiting at the porte cochere. "I fear I shall not have
time for it now. May I consult you later? You are sure, Miss More, that
the story is something that I ought to hear?"

Miss More hesitated. "I don't know," she said slowly. "It may have been
merely a schoolgirl misunderstanding. I will--think it over and let you
know after the dinner. In any event, I thank you for your confidence.
Miss Whiton certainly merits the honor."

It seemed to Bea that Miss More looked after the older woman with an
expression of half-puzzled surprise at her own indecision. Then she
turned to Robbie.

"I remember that evening," she spoke in a curiously softened tone.
"Elizabeth sat in the glow of the drop-light and scribbled this card,
while the rest of us watched her idly, and talked, half serious, half in
fun over the novelty of choosing our mottoes. It was Elizabeth who had
proposed it. She had such a shy, sweet, humorous way of being good.
Everybo