HEN Dolores rapped softly at the door an hour later, she was bidden to enter by a low but calm voice; and she found Helena busy in unpacking her trunks, and arranging her wardrobe in closets, drawers and boxes.
"You look tired, Miss Maxon," she said kindly—"or rather, Miss Lena, for we must not be formal if we are to be room-mates, must we? so let us begin with Lena and Dolores from the first."
"Dolores," repeated Helena, softly; "Dolores—it is a lovely name, but I never heard it before."
"No, it is not a common name. It means sorrowful, I believe; my mother named me well. And now, may I not assist you in your unpacking? Let me hang up your dresses—the hooks are so high, and I am taller than you."
"Oh, thank you, you are very kind, and I am tired. It always makes me tired and ill to cry, and I look so like a fright, too. I wish I might be improved by tears, like the heroines in novels we read about; but I am not so fortunate as they."
"Have you read many novels?" asked Dolores, as she hung up a neat blue walking suit, secretly wondering if that color could be becoming to her dusky companion.
"Oh, no, not many. Mamma thinks I am too young to read the best novels understandingly, and she does not like to have me read anything for just the story of it. I have read all of Mrs. Whitney's books; they are the sweetest stories in the world for girls to read, mamma says, and I think so, too. They always make me feel braver and better, and more contented. I have read two or three books that made me discontented; the heroines were so wonderfully gifted and so gloriously beautiful that I fairly hated my poor self for days after reading about them."
Dolores smiled.
"That is very odd," she said, "I do not remember to ever have been affected in that way by a book."