Grace stopped and held out her hand with the frank cordiality which characterized her.
After a pleasant exchange of greetings they passed on greatly elated over the fact that "that clever Miss Harlowe, who was the most popular girl at Overton last year," had remembered them.
"We're beginning to gather home," she murmured softly.

She was passing Holland House now, and it brought back delightful memories of Mabel Ashe.

Her glance rested wistfully on the front door.

She half expected to see it open and to see coming toward her the lithe, graceful figure of the girl whose dainty hands had been the first to grasp hers in friendly welcome, when, as an untried freshman, she had first set foot in the land of Overton so long ago.

"Mabel," she breathed, "dear, dear girl! If ever I come to mean half as much to lonely freshmen as you meant to me, I shall feel that I have succeeded gloriously." Wrapped in recollections of the past, which she realized were bound to haunt her at every turn until time and work had banished her sense of loss, Grace did not hear the light footsteps of the tall young woman who bore noiselessly down upon her like an avenging fate.