Jane Allen: Right Guard | Page 9

stamped upon it?"
"It was postmarked 'New York.' No, I did not keep the envelope."
"New York? Why, I came straight from Montana!" cried Jane. "I
haven't been in New York since last Christmas."
"I could not possibly know that. A letter could be forwarded even from
Montana to New York for mailing," reminded the matron with satirical
significance.
"Then you still believe that I wrote this?"
Jane's voice was freighted with hurt pride. Something in the girl's
scornful, fearless, gray eyes, looking her through and through, brought
a faint flush to the matron's set face. The possibility that Jane's protest
was honest had reluctantly forced itself upon her. She was not specially
anxious to admit Jane's innocence, though she was now half convinced
of it.
"I hardly know what to believe," she said curtly. "Your denial of the
authorship of this letter seems sincere. I should naturally prefer to

believe that you did not write it."
"I give you my word of honor as a Wellington girl that I did not," Jane
answered impressively. "I cannot blame you for resenting it. It is most
discourteous. I should be sorry to believe myself capable of such
rudeness."
"I will accept your statement," Mrs. Weatherbee stiffly conceded.
"However, the fact remains that someone wrote and mailed this letter to
me. There is but one inference to be drawn from it."
She paused and stared hard at Jane.
Without replying, Jane again perused the fateful letter. As she finished
a second reading of it, a bitter smile dawned upon her mobile lips.
"Yes," she said heavily. "There is just one inference to be drawn from
it--spite work. I had no idea that it would be carried to this length,
though."
"Then you suspect a particular person as having written it?" sharply
inquired the matron.
"I do," came the steady response. "I know of but one, perhaps two
persons, who might have done so. I am fairly sure that it lies between
the two."
"It naturally follows then that the person or persons you suspect are
students at Wellington," commented the matron. "This is a matter that
would scarcely concern outsiders. More, we may go further and narrow
the circle down to Madison Hall."
Jane received this pointed surmise in absolute silence.
"There is this much about it, Miss Allen," the older woman continued
after a brief pause, "I will not have under my charge a girl who would
stoop to such a contemptible act against a sister student. I must ask you
to tell me frankly if your suspicions point to anyone under this roof."

"I can't answer that question, Mrs. Weatherbee. I mean I don't wish to
answer it. Even if I knew positively who had done this, I'd be silent
about it. It's my way of looking at it and I can't change. I'd rather drop
the whole matter. It's hard, of course, to give up my room here and go
somewhere else. I love Madison Hall and----"
Jane came to an abrupt stop. She was determined not to break down,
yet she was very near to it.
"My dear child, you need not leave Madison Hall unless you wish to do
so." Mrs. Weatherbee's frigidity had miraculously vanished. A gleam of
kindly purpose had appeared in her eyes.
For the first time since her acquaintance with Jane Allen she found
something to admire. For the sake of a principle, this complex,
self-willed girl, of whom she had ever disapproved, was willing to
suffer injury in silence. The fact that Jane had refused to answer her
question lost significance when compared with the motive which had
prompted refusal.
"You might easily accuse me of unfairness if I allowed matters to
remain as they are," pursued the matron energetically. "As the injured
party you have first right to your old room. Miss Noble, the young
woman now occupying it with Miss Stearns, applied for a room here by
letter on the very next day after I received this letter, supposedly from
you.
"I wrote her that I had a vacancy here and asked for references. These
she forwarded immediately. As it happens I have another unexpected
vacancy here due to the failure of a new girl to pass her entrance
examinations. Miss Noble will no doubt be quite willing to take the
other room. At all events, you shall have your own again."
"I can't begin to tell you how much I thank you, Mrs. Weatherbee."
Jane's somber face had lightened into radiant gratitude. "But I can tell
you that I'm sorry for my part in any misunderstandings we've had in
the past. I don't feel about college now as I did last year."

Carried away by her warm appreciation of the matron's unlooked-for
stand in her behalf, Jane found herself telling Mrs. Weatherbee