“Then I should say it was a waste of good time to go up,” declared Nita amiably. “You’d better be on hand to-morrow. The juniors are going to be awfully hard to beat.”
“I’ll try,” said Betty unsmilingly, and Nita withdrew her head from the window, wondering what could be the matter with her usually cheerful friend.
At the corner of Meriden Place Betty hesitated. Then, noticing that Mrs. Chapin’s piazza was full of girls, she crossed Main Street and turned into the campus, following the winding path that led away from the dwelling-houses through the apple orchard. There were seats along this path. Betty chose one on the crest of the hill, screened in by a clump of bushes and looking off toward Paradise and the hills beyond. There she sat down in the warm spring dusk to consider possibilities. And yet what was the use of bothering her head again when she had thought it all over in the afternoon? Arguments that she might have made to Ethel occurred to her now that it was too late to use them, but nothing else. She would go back to Dorothy, explain why she could not speak to Eleanor herself, and beg her to take back the responsibility which she had unwittingly shifted to the wrong shoulders. She would go straight off too. She had found an invitation to a spread at the Belden house scrawled on her blotting pad at dinner time, and she might as well be over there enjoying herself as here worrying about things she could not possibly help.
As she got up from her seat she glanced at the hill that sloped off below her. It was the dust-pan coasting ground. How different it looked now in its spring greenery! Betty smiled at the memory of her mishap. How nice Eleanor had been to her then. And Miss Ferris! If only Miss Ferris would speak to Eleanor. “Why, perhaps she will,” thought Betty, suddenly remembering Miss Ferris’s note. “I could ask her to, anyway. But–she’s a faculty. Well, Ethel is too, though I never thought of it.” And Dorothy had wanted Betty’s help in keeping the matter out of the hands of the authorities. “But this is different,” Betty decided at last. “I’m asking them not as officials, but just as awfully nice people, who know what to say better than we girls do. Miss King would think that was all right.”
Without giving herself time to reconsider, Betty sped toward the Hilton house. All sorts of direful suppositions occurred to her while she waited for a maid to answer her ring. What if Miss Ferris had forgotten about writing the note, or had meant it for what Nan called “a polite nothing”? Perhaps it would be childish to speak of it anyway. Perhaps Miss Ferris would have other callers. If not, how should she tell her story?
“I ought to have taken time to think,” reflected Betty, as she followed the maid down the hall to Miss Ferris’s rooms.
Miss Ferris was alone; nevertheless Betty fidgeted dreadfully during the preliminary small-talk. Somebody would be sure to come in before she could get started, and she should never, never dare to come again. At the first suggestion of a pause she plunged into her business.
“Miss Ferris, I want to ask you something, but I hated to do it, so I came right along as soon as I decided that I’d better, and now I don’t know how to begin.”
“Just begin,” advised Miss Ferris, laughing.
“That is what they say to you in theme classes,” said Betty, “but it never helped me so very much, somehow. Well, I might begin by telling you why I thought I could come to you.”