She took the handkerchief from her pocket and sniffed at it. Neither was she familiar with perfumes, and this odor was new to her. Suddenly an idea occurred to her and she made straight for the nearest drugstore.
"Mr. Gleason," she demanded of the clerk in charge, "could you tell me what perfume this is?"
The druggist sniffed thoughtfully at the handkerchief for some seconds.
"It's sandalwood," he said at last. "We received some in stock a week ago."
CHAPTER XXIII
IN THE THICK OF THE FIGHT
How examinations loom up on the fatal day, like monstrous obstacles that must be overcome! How the hours slip past, with nothing to break the stillness save the scratching of pens on foolscap paper, while each student draws upon the supply of knowledge stored up during the winter months!
A fly buzzes on the window pane; a teacher rises, tiptoes slowly about the room and sits down again. She can do nothing, now, but keep watch on the pairs of drooping shoulders and the tired, flushed faces.
Anne was so absorbed in her work that she was oblivious to everything about her. Her pen moved with precision over her paper and her copy was neat and clear.