“I am,” returned Eleanor in a queer, husky voice. “I could never show my face again if I failed.” She brushed the tears out of her eyes. “Now go and get your books,” she said calmly, “and don’t ever mention the subject again. I had to tell somebody.”
Betty was back in a moment, looking as if she had seen a ghost. “She’s come,” she gasped, “and she’s crying like everything.”
“Who?” inquired Eleanor coolly.
“My roommate–Helen Chase Adams.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t say a word–just grabbed up my books and ran. Let’s study till Nan comes and then she’ll settle it.”
It was almost one o’clock before Nan appeared. She tossed a box of candy to the weary students, and gave a lively account of her morning, which had included a second breakfast, three strawberry-ices, a walk to the bridge, half a dozen calls on the campus, and a plunge in the swimming-tank.
“I didn’t dream I knew so many people here,” she said. “But now I’ve seen them all and they’ve promised to call on you, Betty, and I must go to-night.”
“Not unless she stops crying,” said Betty firmly, and told her story.
“Go up and ask her to come down-town with us and have a lunch at Holmes’s,” suggested Nan.