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The corridors were full of girls in the pretty dresses which they had worn to dinner, hurrying toward the different society halls. Soft bells were ringing here and there. These were important meetings, for new members were to be elected, matters connected with the sending out of invitations to be decided, besides the usual pressing affairs of girls’ literary societies. There were only two societies in the two collegiate classes, hence the rivalry. One or two others had ingloriously died soon after their birth. Only the devoted Whittiers and Emersons had survived.

Two pink spots burned on the cheeks of Cathalina Van Buskirk, for she was to take the “oath of office” tonight, sit in the famous chair on the little platform and wield the gavel of ebony, presented by a famous graduate who had made a name for herself. The other new officers were also to be initiated, and then the important matters of business were to be conducted. “Hilary, wink at me if I do anything wrong, and then I will find it necessary to consult the secretary,” said Cathalina gayly, as they entered the door.