Ruth's face took on a hunted expression. Her mouth set in hard
lines. "No," she said shortly. "There was nothing worth remembering.
Perhaps I'll tell you some day, but not now. Please don't think me
hateful and disobliging, but I don't wish to talk of myself."

Arline Thayer eyed Ruth with displeasure. "I don't see why you
should say that, Ruth. We have all talked of ourselves," she said
coldly.

Ruth flushed deeply. She felt the note of censure in Arline's voice.

"I think we had better go," announced Grace, consulting her watch.
"It is now half-past seven. We ought to be at Wayne Hall by eight
o'clock. You know the Herculean labor I have before me."

"Herculean labor is a good name for our coming task," chuckled Anne.
"The Anarchist will make Wayne Hall resound with her vengeful cries
when she is thrust out of the room with all her possessions."

Jesting light-heartedly over the coming encounter, the diners
strolled out of Vinton's and down College Street in the direction of
the campus. Arline was the first to leave them. Her good night to the
four girls from Wayne Hall was cordial in the extreme, but to Ruth
she was almost distant. A little later on they said good night to
Ruth, who looked ready to cry.

"Cheer up," comforted Grace, who was walking with Ruth. "Arline will
be all right to-morrow."

"I hope so," responded Ruth mournfully. "I did not mean to make her