That evening Dolly was wishing for some one’s note-book on Greek art, that she might make up a lecture she had lost because of a headache. Beth noted rather anxiously that Dolly had many headaches in these days. This was something new. Until very lately, Dolly and headaches had been strangers.
The junior year was conceded by everyone to be the easiest year in the entire course, so Beth did not believe that Dolly was working too hard. Yet she seemed tired so much of the time! She had been so anxious that athletics at Westover should be revived, but now, when an effort was being made in that direction, Dolly took only a languid interest in the matter. Beth helped her in many little ways, and hid her increasing anxiety, although she was fully determined to write to Mrs. Alden, if Dolly did not grow stronger within a short time.
Beth looked up as Dolly was expressing her wish for the notes on Greek art. She, herself, was not taking that course, for she preferred logarithms and abstruse calculations, to the marvels of the Parthenon.
“I’ll get you Margery Ainsworth’s note-book, Dolly; she has full notes on everything, the girls say.”
“Yes, her book would do splendidly, if she will loan it, but I ought to get it myself. There is no reason in the world why you should be running my errands in this fashion.”
“I like it, so don’t talk nonsense,” and Beth went off briskly.
She gave a little tap at Margery’s door, then entered, thinking that she had heard Margery speak. When she was fairly in the room, however, she saw Margery lying on her couch, sobbing as if her heart would break.
“Why, Margery, what is the trouble? have you had bad news? Do tell me.”
Margery sat up hastily. Beth was not the person whom she would have selected as her confidant. “I have just received a letter from Father. He has been crippled in business for some time by the recent bank failures, and now he has lost everything.”