"There's plenty of fudge on our table," put in Miriam Nesbit. "Help yourself to it whenever the spirit moves you."
"Where is Mildred Taylor this morning?" asked Irene Evans, glancing toward Mildred's vacant place.
"Miss Taylor is ill this morning," answered a prim voice from the end of the table.
With one accord all eyes were turned in the direction of the voice. The Anarchist had actually spoken at the table! It was unbelievable. What followed was even more surprising. The Anarchist swept the table with a defiant look, then said, with startling distinctness, "If she has not fully recovered by to-night I shall send for a physician. In the meantime I shall remain with her to care for her."
"That is very kind in you, I am sure," ventured Emma Dean. Surprise had tied the tongues of the others.
"Not in the least," contradicted the Anarchist coldly. "As her roommate, common humanity demands that I assume a certain amount of responsibility for her welfare."
"Oh, yes, of course," agreed Emma hastily. "Please let us know when we may run in to see her. Excuse me, everybody. I must run upstairs and study a little before going to chapel."
Several freshmen followed her lead and filed decorously out the door with preternaturally solemn faces that broke into smiles the moment the door closed behind them.
The Anarchist, however, went on eating her breakfast, quite unaware that she had created the slightest ripple of amusement. When Elfreda rose to leave the dining room the strange young woman rose, too, and walked sedately out of the room in the stout girl's wake.
"Elfreda has evidently made a conquest," remarked Miriam to Grace. "See how tamely the haughty Anarchist follows at her heels."