my money. I
had no business to lay my bag down. What's the use of regretting? I'll
have to think of some way to raise that money. If I can't find it any
other way I can sell my clothes. I have perfectly _beautiful_ things.
Four trunks full. Lots more than I can wear. It is lucky for me that--"
She checked herself guiltily.

"That what?" asked Evelyn. She was beginning to feel a vague impatience
at the strange way in which Jean Brent chopped off her sentences. And
how recklessly she talked about selling her clothes.

"That I have you for a roommate," smiled the mysterious freshman. "I
wonder how much the expressman will charge to bring my trunks from the
station. Then, too, I wonder where I can put them. I wouldn't think of
spoiling the looks of our room with them."

"You can put one of them over in that corner," planned Evelyn, "and we
could get one into the closet. It's large and quite light. The other two
Miss Harlowe will allow you to leave in the trunk room."

"I suppose it will cost a small fortune to have them delivered,"
demurred Jean. "I can't have the sale, either, until I know some of the
girls who would be interested in my wares. I'll have to telegraph my
friend to send me some money. Will you go with me to the telegraph
office. I don't know the way. I'll ask Miss Harlowe to pay the
expressman. Then I'll pay her when my money comes. Frenzied finance,
isn't it? But if you knew--" Again that maddening break.

"I'll pay the expressman," volunteered Evelyn. "If I were you I'd talk
things over with Miss Harlowe. She knows that you lost your purse. Very
likely she has already thought of something you can do. I don't think
she would like to have you sell your clothes."

"I don't see why she should object," declared Jean, with quick
impatience. "However, I'll do my hair over again, and wash my face and
hands, then I'll go down stairs and have a talk with her. She said she'd
be in her office."

"Run down and talk with her now, then we'll go to the telegraph office,"
said Evelyn.

Twenty minutes later Jean entered the little office where Grace sat
engaged in the work she had been doing when interrupted by her friends
earlier in the afternoon. Like Evelyn, she was keenly alive to her
latest charge's good looks. "How attractive she is," was her thought as
she invited Jean to take the chair opposite hers.

"I suppose you would like to know something of our household, Miss
Brent," began Grace. "We are not only a