Margery, for the first month or so, was silent and kept as close as possible to Lydia’s apron strings.  But Lydia had prophesied truly.  No girl as beautiful as Margery could be kept in Coventry long and though she refused for a time to go to parties, it was not long before Margery was taking tramps with the college boys and joining happily enough in the simple pleasures at the cottage.

Lydia did not hear from Kent until a week before the first college hop, late in October.  Then she received a formal note from him, reminding her of his invitation.

“Oh, Lyd!” exclaimed Margery, “aren’t you lucky!  I haven’t seen Kent or heard from him since our trouble!”

“Neither have I,” said Lydia.  “And I suspect he’s so cross with me that he hates to keep this engagement.  But I don’t care.  I wish I had a new dress.  But I’ve made the sleeves small in my organdy and made a new girdle.  It looks as well as could be expected!” she finished, comically.

“Lydia,” cried Margery, suddenly, “I’ve a whole closet full of party dresses I won’t wear this year and you and I are just of a size, won’t you wear one—­take one and keep it—­please, Lydia!”

Lydia flushed and shook her head.

“Is it because they were bought with Dad’s money?” asked Margery.

Lydia’s flush grew deeper.  “I couldn’t take it anyway, Margery,” she protested.  But Margery tossed her head and was silent for the rest of the afternoon.

The hop was a success, a decided success, in spite of the organdy.  Kent was inclined to be stiff, at first, and to wear a slightly injured air, and yet, mingled with this was a frank and youthful bravado.  And there could be no doubt that among the college boys, Kent was more or less of a hero.  It was something to boast of, evidently, to have one’s name coupled with Levine’s in the great scandal.

Kent had supposed that he would have some trouble in filling Lydia’s card for her, but to his surprise, he found that in her timid way, Lydia was something of a personage among the older college boys and the younger professors.

“Oh, you have Miss Dudley.  Let me have three dances, will you,” said the instructor in Psychology.  “How pretty she is to-night!”

“Lydia is a peach,” Kent stated briefly.  “One two-step is the best I can do for you.”

“Come now, Moulton, a two-step and a waltz,” said Professor Willis.  “I haven’t seen Miss Dudley since college opened.  Isn’t her hair wonderful to-night!”

Gustus was there with Olga.  “Gimme a waltz with Lydia, Kent,” he demanded.  “Who’d ever thought she’d grow up so pretty!  If she could dress well—­”

“Her card’s full,” grunted Kent.  “And she dresses better’n any girl I know.  What’s the matter with that dress?”

The two young men stood watching Lydia, who was chatting with Professor Willis.  The dress was out of style.  Even their masculine eyes recognized that fact, yet where in the room was there a mass of dusty gold hair like Lydia’s, where such scarlet cheeks, where such a look of untried youth?