“Can you?” asked Betty admiringly.
“I’m not sure till I’ve tried. I’ve been meditating asking your roommate to do the paper. Would you?”
“No,” said Betty so emphatically that Eleanor stopped playing and looked at her curiously.
“Why not? Do you think it’s wrong to exchange her industry for my dollars?”
Betty considered. She still admired Eleanor, but she had learned her limitations. Her beauty wove a spell about all that she did, and she was very clever and phenomenally quick when she cared to apply herself. But she cared so seldom, roused herself only when she could gain prestige, when there was something to manipulate, to manage. And apparently she was not even to be trusted. Still, what was the use of quarreling with her about honor and fair play? To Betty in her present mood it seemed a mere waste of time and energy.
“Well, for one reason,” she said at last, “Helen hasn’t her own paper done yet, and for another I don’t think she writes as well as you probably do;” and she rose to go.
“That was a joke, Bettina,” Eleanor called after her. “I am truly going to work now–this very instant. Come back at ten and have black coffee with me.”
Betty went on without answering to Rachel’s room. “Come in,” chorused three cheerful voices.
“No, go get your lit. paper first. We’re reading choice selections,” added Katherine.
“She means she is,” corrected Rachel, handing Betty a pillow. “You look cross, Betty.”