“Because, Julia”—Lois knew now that it was best to explain the whole matter—“because I may not be here next year.”
Then in as few words as possible, Lois told Julia that loss of money and other things made it expedient for her to take a year or more away from college.
“I cannot bear to be counted out of this class, but there is no help for it.”
Julia very wisely did not attempt to dissuade Lois from her purpose of teaching, although already a little plan had begun to form in her mind. Yet she was sympathetic, and told Lois that it was simply impossible to think of the class as ready to graduate without her.
“Why, we’ll all have to stay out a year, just to keep up with you,” she said.
But in her own room that evening, Julia pondered long over the perversity of Fate, that hampered girls like Jane and Pamela and Lois, who loved study for its own sake, while many others were able to glide through college with no thought of the great privileges that were open to them. “The worst of it is, the girls whom one would like to help are always the proudest.” Then Julia put her mind on the subject, and decided that if she could help it Lois should not leave college.
As Lois had finished her examinations in the first two weeks, she found time for more than one brief call on Miss Ambrose. It was so easy to drop in for a half-hour in passing, and the interest of the older woman in all her affairs was so genuine, that it was a delight to tell all that she could about college life. One day she stayed to luncheon, and enjoyed the service of quaint, old-fashioned china and silver, and she stole glances of admiration as she ate, at the massive mahogany sideboard and the spindle-legged serving table and the delicate steel engravings on the wall. Then in Miss Ambrose’s sitting-room she found so much to gratify her love of antiquities. There was the cabinet, for example, with its wedgewood vases, and the mosaics collected in Europe, and the little book-shelf with its tiny volumes of the Italian poets, bound in vellum, and the half-dozen miniatures on the mantle-piece of Miss Ambrose’s parents and other relatives,—all these and many other things claimed Lois’ attention, although most interesting of all was Miss Ambrose herself. A well-cultivated mind has always a strong charm for a thoughtful girl, and Miss Ambrose had certainly more culture than belongs to the average college graduate, man or woman. She had travelled and she had studied, yet she always seemed ready to hear Lois’ views on any subject of general interest.
“You look pale,” said Miss Ambrose abruptly on this particular day; “you look pale, and if you will pardon my saying it, a trifle worried. A young person should never show the touch of care.”
“Why, I ought not to look worried,” said Lois soberly. “I am sorry to appear so—so stupid.”
“You could never appear stupid,” rejoined Miss Ambrose, “but you are certainly paler. I hope that you are not working too hard.”