"Helen," she cried, catching the demure little figure in her arms, "Helen, just think of it! I'm in Dramatic Club. Oh, Helen Chase Adams, how did it ever happen?"
The room cleared out gradually after that, and the nicest part, Betty thought, was having the people you liked best tell you in intelligible English and comparative quiet how very glad they were.
"I never in all my life saw anybody look so funny as you did when we came in," said Mary Brooks at last. "What were you doing, anyway?"
"Hanging a skirt," explained Betty, with great dignity.
"Was it going to have a court train all the way around?" inquired Mary.
"Tell her, Helen," commanded Betty.
"That was tucks, Mary," repeated Helen, obediently, and then everybody laughed.
Under cover of the mirth Betty sought out Dorothy. "Where's Eleanor?" she whispered.
"She went off for Sunday with Polly Eastman," Dorothy explained. "And Betty, she's a trump after all. She—but I think perhaps she'd rather tell you herself."
"Betty," broke in Nita Reese, "you must hurry and get dressed. You'll have to appear at chapel, if you never get that skirt hung."