The President put on her glasses and began to read Judy's theme. Every now and then she gave a low, amused chuckle.
"The child writes like Marie Corelli," she exclaimed, laughing. "And yet it is clever and it does suggest----" she paused and frowned. "I wonder if she could and doesn't dare tell?" she added slowly.
"Is she one of the Queen's Cottage girls? They appear to be rather a remarkable lot this year."
"Some of them are very bright," said Miss Pomeroy.
"Louise," said the President suddenly, "Frances Andrews is one of the girls at that house, is she not?"
"Yes," nodded the other, with a queer look on her face.
"She's clever," said the President. "She's deep, Emma. It is impossible to make any definite statement about her. One must go very slowly in these things. But after what happened last year, you know----"
She paused. Even with her most intimate friend she disliked to discuss certain secrets of the institution openly.
"Yes," said Miss Pomeroy, "she is either very deep or entirely innocent."
"Some one is guilty," sighed the President. "I do wish I knew who it was."
Judy's theme not only received especial mention by Miss Pomeroy, but it was read aloud to the entire class and was later published in the college paper, _The Commune_, to Judy's everlasting joy and glory. She was congratulated about it on all sides and her heart was swollen with pride.
"I think I'll take to writing in dead earnest," she said to Molly, "because I have the happy faculty of writing on subjects I don't know anything about, and no one knows the difference."
"I wish you'd take to doing anything in dead earnest," Molly replied, giving her friend a little impatient shake.
"Mrs. Anna Oldham, the famous suffragette, will speak in the gymnasium on Saturday afternoon, at four o'clock, on 'Woman's Suffrage.' All those interested in this subject are invited to be present."
Molly and Judy, with a crowd of friends, on the way from one classroom to another one busy Friday had paused in front of the bulletin board in the main corridor.
"Mrs. Anna Oldham?" they repeated, trying to remember where they had heard the name before.
"Why, Judy," whispered Molly, "that must be Nance's mother. Do you--do you suppose Nance knows?"