"

Berta did not move, though her mobile face seemed to harden in a
curiously stony expression. She read the notice again. Robbie Belle came
breezily from the messenger room.

"Anything new, Berta? You look queer." She followed the direction of the
fascinated eyes. She read it slowly and drew a deep breath.

"So we can't go after all," she said.

Berta seemed to wake up suddenly from a trance. "Robbie Belle!"

"I can't help it," doggedly though the smooth forehead had clouded in a
quick frown of pain at the cry, "it would not be honest. I didn't know
before."

"It's our own money," protested Berta defiantly.

"But our scholarships are the same as borrowed."

[Illustration: "ANYTHING NEW?"]

"The tickets are bought and paid for."

Robbie Belle caught a glimpse of figures emerging from the dining-room.
"There come those two seniors who forgot to get seats in advance. Isn't
it lucky! Now we can sell them ours."

"Give me my ticket," demanded Berta's voice sullenly, "you never cared."

"But it is not honest," repeated Robbie Belle stubbornly. "I never
thought of it in that light before. It is not honest to spend five
dollars and more for a luxury while we are living on borrowed money."

"Give--me--my--ticket."

The seniors rustled past. To Berta their laughter sounded far away. "Oh,
girls, we'll have to hurry! Hear that bell jangle."

"The conductor does it on purpose to see us run. We have three minutes
yet. Those two freshmen by the bulletin-board are going."

"It is not honest," said Robbie Belle.

Fragments of gay chatter floated back to them. "Caruso and Sembrich in
Lucia di Lammermoor! Fancy! It is the most wonderful combination of
extraordinary talent--genius. I shall certainly go if I have to stand up
every minute of the three hours."

"It is simply wicked to miss such an opportunity."

"Important part of our education, isn't it? I only wish my thesis were on
the 'Development of the Drama.' I should employ the laboratory method
most assuredly."

"The critics say that such a chance as this does not occur more than once
in a century."

"It is not honest," said Robbie Belle, back in the shadowy corridor
before the bulletin-board.

"Will you give me my ticket?"

Robbie Belle flinched before the passionate low tones, and the roseleaf
color in her cheeks went quite white. She handed Berta both tickets. "You
may do what you like with mine," she said and turned slowly away.

Berta fled in the