full report of the girl’s parents. Her mother was an American negress, a mulatto to be exact, from the West. She was a sensational dancer in Paris and married a wealthy and titled Frenchman, Alexis Semon. So Louise is, as you suspected, a person of color. Quadroon, I believe, is the technical term. Most unfortunate. But naturally the situation is intolerable, as I explained to Mr. Nicoll. I told him she would receive immediate dismissal. He is calling for her tonight. Naturally, I had an interview with Louise and explained the situation to her as kindly as possible—oh, but why go into that?”

She looked at Ethel as if she were seeking sympathy—but all she saw was a young girl’s face, whose thin lips were stretched in a sardonic smile of triumph. Miss Burke knew with sudden realization how she had played into this jealous girl’s hands. Abruptly she said, “Will you please leave me.”

When Ethel had gone, Miss Burke lay there on the sofa remembering, with horrible clarity, all the things Louise had said in her defense. What difference did it make? She did not look colored. She was as clever and as charming as any of the other girls—better educated than most. She was so happy here; was not America a democracy?

Miss Burke tried to soothe herself with the thought that what she had done had to be done—after all, hers was a fashionable institution. She had been tricked into accepting the girl. But something else kept telling her that she was wrong and that Louise was right!

V

It was nine o’clock and Ethel lay on her bed staring at the ceiling—trying not to think of anything or hear anything. She wanted to fall asleep and forget.
Suddenly there was a soft knock on the door. Then the door opened and Louise Semon was standing there.
Ethel shut her eyes tightly—she hadn’t counted on this.

“What do you want?” She talked up to the ceiling and did not turn her head.
The beautiful girl stood by the bed and looked down directly into Ethel’s face. Ethel could feel those dark eyes on her and she knew they were swollen from tears.
“I came to ask you why you did this to me. Do you dislike me so?”

“I hate you.”
“Why?” Louise was earnest in asking.
“I don’t know—please go; leave me alone!”
She could hear Louise opening the door. “Ethel, you are a strange girl. I am afraid I do not understand—” And the door was closed.
A few minutes later Ethel heard a car in the driveway. She went to the window and looked out. A black limousine was turning through the stone gates, out of the school grounds. When she turned around, Ethel was looking into the face of Mildred Barnett.

Mildred said simply, “Well, Ethel, you’ve won and you’ve lost, all at the same time. I told you you were playing with dynamite. Yes, Ethel, of a certain type you’ve given a rather brilliant performance—shall I applaud?”

The End