g. What a lot! Is that all for us?" And
Priscilla walked down the corridor swinging her note-book by its
shoe-string, and opening envelops as she went. She was presently joined
by Georgie Merriles, likewise swinging a note-book by a shoe-string.

"Hello, Pris; going to English? Want me to help carry your mail?"

"Thank you," said Priscilla; "you may keep the most of it. Now, that,"
she added, holding out a blue envelop, "is an advertisement for cold
cream which no lady should be without; and that"--holding out a yellow
envelop--"is an advertisement for beef extract which no brain-worker
should be without; and that"--holding out a white envelop--"is the worst
of all, because it looks like a legitimate letter, and it's nothing but
a 'Dear Madam' thing, telling me my tailor has moved from Twenty-second
to Forty-third Street, and hopes I'll continue to favor him with my
patronage.

"And here," she went on, turning to her room-mate's correspondence, "is
a cold-cream and a beef-extract letter for Patty, and one from Yale;
that's probably Raoul explaining why he couldn't come to the Prom. It
won't do any good, though. No mortal man can ever make her believe he
didn't have his collar-bone broken on purpose. And I don't know whom
that's from," Priscilla continued, examining the last letter. "It's
marked 'Hotel A----, New York.' Never heard of it, did you? Never saw
the writing before, either."

Georgie laughed. "Do you keep tab on all of Patty's correspondents?"

"Oh, I know the most of them by this time. She usually reads the
interesting ones out loud, and the ones that aren't interesting she
never answers, so they stop writing. Hurry up; the bell's going to
ring"; and they pushed in among the crowd of girls on the steps of the
recitation-hall.

The bell did ring just as they reached the class-room, and Priscilla
dropped the letters, without comment, into Patty's lap as she went past.
Patty was reading poetry and did not look up. She had assimilated some
ten pages of Shelley since the first bell rang, and as she was not sure
which would be taken up in class, she was now swallowing Wordsworth in
the same voracious manner. Patty's method in Romantic Poetry was to be
very fresh on the first part of the lesson, catch the instructor's eye
early in the hour, make a brilliant recitation, and pass the remainder
of the time in gentle meditation.

To-day, however, the unwonted bulk of her correspondence diverted her
mind from its