r Marshall home from a committee meeting, and as the faculty
committees at that time of year were, for the most part, feverishly
occupied with the classification of the annual flood-tide of Freshmen,
he was nearly always late, and they were obliged to wait long
half-hours in front of the Main Building.

Sylvia's cup of satisfaction ran over as, dressed in her simple best,
which her mother without comment allowed her to put on every day now,
she sat in the well-appointed carriage beside her beautiful aunt, at
whom every one looked so hard and so admiringly. The University work
had not begun, but unresigned and harassed professors and assistants,
recalled from their vacations for various executive tasks, were
present in sufficient numbers to animate the front steps of the Main
Building with constantly gathering and dissolving little groups. These
called out greetings to each other, and exchanged dolorous mutual
condolences on their hard fate; all showing, with a helpless masculine
naivete, their consciousness of the lovely, observant figure in the
carriage below them. Of a different sort were the professors' wives,
who occasionally drifted past on the path. Aunt Victoria might have
been a blue-uniformed messenger-boy for all that was betrayed by their
skilfully casual glance at her and then away, and the subsequent
directness of their forward gaze across the campus. Mrs.
Marshall-Smith had for both these manifestations of consciousness of
her presence the same imperturbable smile of amusement. "They are
delightful, these colleagues of your father's!" she told Sylvia.
Sylvia had hoped fervently that the stylish Mrs. Hubert might see
her in this brief apotheosis, and one day her prayer was answered.
Straight down the steps of the Main Building they came, Mrs. Hubert
glistening in shiny blue silk, extremely unaware of Aunt Victoria,
the two little girls looking to Sylvia like fairy princesses, with
pink-and-white, lace-trimmed dresses, and big pink hats with rose
wreaths. Even the silk laces in their low, white kid shoes were of
pink to match the ribbons, which gleamed at waist and throat and
elbow. Sylvia watched them in an utter admiration, and was beyond
measure shocked when Aunt Victoria said, after they had stepped
daintily past, "Heavens! What a horridly over-dressed family! Those
poor children look too absurd, tricked out like that. The one nearest
me had a sweet, appealing little face, too."

"That is Eleanor," sai