It was over at last. Miss Andrews announced the score, congratulating victor and vanquished alike on clean, fair play. Betty joined in the mad rush around the gym., helped sing to the team and to the freshman team and finally retired to a quiet corner with Christy Mason, who had come back to see the game and get a start with her neglected work before vacation. Betty gave her the Students' Commission key with a little sigh of satisfaction.
"It's a good deal of responsibility, isn't it?" she said.
Christy nodded. "If you take it seriously. But then isn't life a responsibility?"
Helen was sitting alone in their room when Betty got back, her eyes shining like stars, her plain, angular little face alight with happiness.
"I say, Helen," began Betty, hunting for the hat-pins that still fastened a remnant of her once gorgeous paper hat to her hair, "your song was great. Did the girls tell you?"
"Some of them," said Helen, shyly. "Some of them didn't know I wrote it.
One asked me if I knew."
Betty laughed. "Did you tell her?"
"No, I didn't," said Helen, blushing. "I—I wanted to, awfully; but I thought it would seem queer."
"Well, plenty of them knew," said Betty, mounting a chair to fasten her wand over a picture.
"Of course,"—Helen's tone was apologetic,—"it's a very little thing to care so much about. I suppose you think I'm silly, but you see I worked over it pretty hard, and I don't have so very many things to care about. Now if I were like you—"