Dora thanked her with a bright little smile that shone out, rainbow-like, from behind the falling tears. And presently she had “stopped long enough” to go out. Betty returned Dora’s book and her own to the librarian, and escaped the importunate demands of Nita Reese, who wanted to know how much she had read and why she was stopping before her time was up.
“For you’ll not get a chance at that book again. It’s engaged for every single hour,” she said.
“You take it now, please, Nita dear, and let me have it your hour—and let me go now. I can’t wait to explain.” And Betty hurried into the hall.
There Dora was waiting for her, composed and very apologetic. “I’m extremely sorry that I cried,” she began in her funny little matter-of-fact way. “I could see that it made you very nervous. It does me too, and I never thought I should be guilty of such childish behavior. But you see, I—I——” Her voice broke, and her lip quivered dangerously.
“Oh, don’t mind that now. Please—please try to think of something else,” begged Betty, in desperate fear of a second shower. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” she added hastily. “We’ll go down to Cuyler’s and have an ice, or a hot chocolate, if you’d rather.”
“I just love ice cream,” said Dora eagerly. “We have it every Sunday for dinner, just as they do on the campus, and I always look forward to Sunday dinners, I assure you.”
“Do you like your boarding-place?” asked Betty tentatively, hoping to divert Dora’s mind from her trouble and at the same time get a clue to its cause.
“Yes, indeed!” answered Dora eagerly. “Mrs. Tait and the girls are lovely, and my room is just like a little nest up among the elm branches. We don’t have many elms near my home, and so I appreciate them more here, I suppose.” She smiled gaily up at Betty, then suddenly her face clouded and she lapsed into sombre silence.
While they ate their ices at the cozy little table for two in Cuyler’s tea-room, Dora kept showing the same quick change of mood. One minute she was smilingly responsive to Betty’s questions; the next she had withdrawn again into her shell, giving no hint of what had frightened her back.
When they had finished, Betty lingered, smoothing her gloves with exaggerated care and wondering if it was safe now to venture on a direct question. The short afternoon had flown away. A maid was turning on the lights, and through the window Betty could see that it was almost dark outside.