"What do you think has happened?" demanded J. Elfreda Briggs, bursting into the room where Anne and Grace were busily making up for lost time. They had lingered at Vinton's until after eight o'clock. Then the thought of to-morrow with its eternal round of classes had driven them home, reluctantly enough, to where their books awaited them. It was almost nine o'clock before they had actually settled themselves, and Elfreda's sudden, tempestuous entrance caused Anne to lay down her Horace with an air of patient resignation. "We might as well begin saying 'unprepared' now, and grow accustomed to the sound of our own voices," she announced.
"I think so, too," agreed Grace. "Well, Elfreda, why this thusness? What has happened? Have you been elected to the Pi Beta Gamma, or did you get an unusually large check from home?"
"Catch the P. B. Gammas troubling themselves about me," scoffed Elfreda. "As for a check, I've written for it, but so far I've seen no signs of it. When I do lay hands on it we'll celebrate the event with feasting and merrymaking."
"Then I can't guess," sighed Grace. "You'd better tell us."
"Well," began Elfreda, her eyes twinkling, "I have a dinner invitation for to-morrow night at Martell's."
"That is nothing startling," scoffed Anne. "We've just come from Vinton's."
"But the rest of my news is remarkable," persisted the stout girl. "I am invited to dine"—Elfreda paused, then finished impressively—"with the Anarchist."
"You don't mean it!" Grace looked her surprise.
"Of course I mean it," retorted Elfreda. "I wouldn't say so if I didn't. She delivered her invitation on the way over to chapel this morning. I'd give you an imitation of the way she did it if I hadn't accepted."
Grace shot a quick, approving glance toward Elfreda which the latter saw and interpreted correctly. "I wouldn't have thought about that last year, would I, Grace?" she asked shyly.