Miss
Wharton. What Grace saw in that quick glance was a round, red, satisfied
face lit by two cold pale blue eyes, and surmounted by lifeless brown
hair, plentifully streaked with gray. There was neither grace nor
majesty in her short, dumpy figure, and Grace's first impression of her
was decidedly unpleasant. An impression which she never had reason to
change.

Miss Wilder rose to meet Grace with outstretched hand. "My dear, I am
glad to see you this morning."

"And I to see you," responded Grace, her gray eyes full of affectionate
regard. "How are you feeling to-day, Miss Wilder?"

"Very well, indeed, for me," smiled the dean. "Almost well enough to
give up my western rest, but not quite. My heart is in my work here. It
is hard to leave it even for a little while. But I am leaving it in good
hands. I wish you to meet Miss Wharton, Grace."

She presented Grace to the other woman, who did not offer to take the
hand Grace extended, but bowed rather distantly. The color stung Grace's
cheeks at the slight. Still she forced herself to try to say honestly,
"I am glad to know you, Miss Wharton."

"Thank you," was the cold response, "You are much younger than I was
led to believe. It is rather difficult to imagine you as the head of a
campus house. You give one the impression of being a student."

Grace's eyes were fixed on the new dean with grave regard. Was this
salutary speech purely impersonal or did a spice of malicious meaning
lurk within it? Not since those far-off days when Miss Leece, a
disagreeable teacher of mathematics at Oakdale High School, had made her
algebra path a thorny one had she encountered any instructor that
reminded her in the least of the one teacher she had thoroughly
despised. Yet, as she strove to fight back her growing dislike and reply
impersonally, she was seized with the conviction that even as she and
Miss Leece had been wholly opposed to each other, so surely would she
and Miss Wharton find nothing in common. After what seemed an hour, but
was in reality a minute, Grace forced herself to smile and say with
quiet courtesy, "This is my second year as house mother at Harlowe
House. I am frequently taken for a student. I really feel no older than
my girls, and I hope I shall always feel so."

"It isn't years that count with Miss Harlowe," smiled Miss Wilder,
coming to Grace's defense. "It is the ability to keep things moving
successfully, and Miss Harlowe has shown that ability in a mark