nmate immediately dropped asleep.
Every? Well, exceptions prove a rule, it is said.

The following morning Beverly told Petty the circumstances of picking up
the note and of its subsequent disappearance.

Petty was in despair and scolded and wept alternately, accusing Beverly
of having deliberately confiscated it, and hinting pretty broadly that
she had also read it.

The moment this accusation left her lips she regretted it because she
knew it to be utterly unfounded and the blaze which sprung into Beverly's
eyes warned the little shallow pate that she had ventured a bit too far.
She tried to retract by saying she was "nervous and excited and
_perfectly miserable_ at the loss of the letter. It was the first of
Reggie's letters she had _ever_ lost, and he had written every single day
for a _whole_ year."

"Three-hundred and sixty-five letters, and every one mushy?" cried
Beverly, incredulously. "I should think it would be worse than eating a
pound of nougat every day."

Petty alternately moped and searched all Saturday, but, of course to no
purpose. When Monday morning came she was in despair, and went to her
first recitation in a most emotional frame of mind.

It happened to be French, and Monsieur Sautelle had been the French
instructor but four months. Moreover, he had not yet been in America a
year and American girls, and things American, were not only new but a
constant source of marvel to him. He lived in a world of hitherto unknown
sensations and this morning was destined to experience an entirely new
one.

The period was nearly over before it came Petty's turn to recite and
Petty, as the result of having spent all her study period in a vain
search for the lost letter, was totally unprepared.

"Madamoiselle Gaylor, you will be so good as to come the conjugation of
the verb love, indi_ca_tive mood, if you please."

Unfortunate choice!

Petty was in a very indicative mood already. Had he chosen any other verb
she might have survived the ordeal, but under the circumstances to openly
affirm: "I love; Thou lovest; _he_ loves----."

Well, there are limits to every one's endurance under extreme emotion.

Petty hesitated and was lost. Not a word would come. Her throat throbbed
and it seemed as though that pound of nougat Beverly had alluded to must
be stuck in it.

"Proceed, if you please, Madamoiselle," urged Monsieur. Petty sat almost
directly in front of him, or rather she stood--Miss Woodhull wished e