“WELL, this is cheerful!” cried the Infant, as she stepped briskly into the room where the rest of the “Set” were dejectedly assembled. “What if this _is_ the last night of college! What if our diplomas _are_ all concealed in the tops of our top trays! Can’t this crowd be original enough to smile a little on our last evening, instead of looking like a country prayer-meeting?” The Infant cast herself upon the cushionless frame of a Morris armchair, and grinned at the forms on the packing-boxes around her. Her eyes roved round the disorderly room, stripped of the pretty portières, cushions, mandolins, and posters, which are as inevitably a part of a college suite as the curriculum is a part o…
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