Betty Wales, Freshman Part 23

"Come in," called Helen Chase Adams eagerly. "Betty, would you please hook my collar, and would one of you see what time it really is? I don't like to depend too much on my watch."

"She'll be at least ten minutes too early," sighed Betty, when Helen had finally departed in a flutter of haste. "And see this room! But I oughtn't to complain," she added, beginning to clear up the dresser.

"I'm always leaving it like this myself; but someway I don't expect it of Helen."

"Who asked her to dinner to-day?" inquired Mary Brooks. She had been sitting in a retired corner, vastly enjoying the unusual spectacle of Helen Adams in a frenzy of excitement.

"Why, I don't know. I never thought to ask," said Betty, straightening the couch pillows. "I only hope she'll have as good a time as she expects."

"Poor youngster!" said Mary. "Wish I'd asked Laurie to jolly her up a bit."

It is to be presumed that these fears were groundless, since the bell was ringing for five o'clock vespers when Helen came back. Betty was sitting at her desk pretending to write letters, but really trying to decide whether she should say anything to Eleanor apropos of her remarks about Emily Davis, and if so, whether she should do it now. Mary Brooks curled up on Betty's couch, dividing her attention between Jack Burgess's picture and a new magazine.

"Had a good time, didn't you?" she remarked sociably when Helen appeared.

"Oh, yes," said Helen happily. "You see I don't go out very often. Were you ever at the Westcott House for dinner?"

"Once," chuckled Mary. "But I found they didn't have ice-cream, because the matron doesn't approve of buying things on Sunday; so I've turned them down ever since."

Helen laughed merrily. "How funny! I never missed it!" There was a becoming flush on her cheeks, a pretty new confidence in her manner.

"Helen, who did you say asked you to the Westcott?" inquired Betty.

"I didn't say, because you didn't ask me," returned Helen truthfully, "but it was Miss Mills."

"Miss Mills!" repeated Mary. "Well, my child, I don't wonder that you were rattled this noon, being invited around by the faculty. Gracious, what a compliment to a young freshman!"

"I should think so!" chimed in Betty eagerly.

In spite of her embarra.s.sment Helen evidently enjoyed the sensation she was producing. "I thought it was awfully nice," she said.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" demanded Mary. "Why, child, you must be a bright and s.h.i.+ning shark in lit."

Helen's happy face clouded suddenly. "I'm not, am I, Betty?" she asked appealingly.

Betty laughed. "Why no, since you ask me. No, she isn't, Mary. She sits on the back row with me and we don't either of us say an extra word.

It's math, and Latin and Greek that Helen s.h.i.+nes in."

"Well, are you awfully devoted to Miss Mills?" pursued Mary. "Is that why she asked you?"

Helen shook her head. "I like her. She reads beautifully and sometimes she says very interesting things, doesn't she, Betty?"

"I hadn't noticed," answered her roommate hastily.

"Well, I think she does, but I never told her I thought so. It couldn't be that."

"Then why did she ask you?" demanded Mary.

"I suppose because she wanted me," said Helen happily. "I can't think of any other reason. Isn't it lovely?"

"Yes indeed," agreed Mary. "It's so grand that I'm going off this minute to tell everybody in the house about it. They'll be dreadfully envious,"

and she left the roommates alone.

Helen pulled off her best gloves carefully, and laid them neatly away, then she put up her hat and coat and sat down in her favorite wicker chair. "I guess I left the room in a dreadful muss this noon," she said apologetically. "I guess I acted silly and excited, but you see--I said I hadn't been out often--this is the very first time I've been invited out to a meal since I came to Harding."

"Really?" said Betty, thinking guiltily of her own mult.i.tude of invitations.

"Yes, I hoped you hadn't any of you noticed it. I hate to be pitied. Now you can just like me."

"Just like you?" repeated Betty vaguely.

"Yes. Don't you see? I'm not left out any more." She hesitated, then went on rapidly. "You see I had a lovely time at first, at the soph.o.m.ore reception and the frolic and all, but it stopped and--this was a good while coming, and I got discouraged. Wasn't it silly? I--oh, it's all right now. I wouldn't change places with anybody." She began to rock violently. Betty had noticed that Helen rocked when other girls sang or danced jigs.

"But I thought--we all thought," began Betty, "that you had decided you preferred to study--that you didn't care for our sort of fun. You haven't seemed to lately."

"Not since it came over me why you girls here in the house were nice to me when n.o.body else was except Theresa," explained Helen with appalling frankness. "You were sorry for me. I thought it out the day after you gave me the violets. Before I came to Harding," she went on, "I did think that college was just to study. It's funny how you change your mind after you get here--how you begin to see that it's a lot bigger than you thought. And it's queer how little you care about doing well in cla.s.s when you haven't anything else to care about." She gave a little sigh, then got up suddenly. "I almost forgot; I have a message for Adelaide. And by the way, Betty, I saw your Miss Hale; she and somebody else were just going in to see Miss Mills when I left."

She had scarcely gone when Mary sauntered back as if by accident. "Well, have you found out?" she asked. "As a student of psychology I'm vastly interested in this situation."

"Found out what?" asked Betty unsmilingly.

"Why Miss Mills asked her, and why she is so pleased."

"I suppose Miss Mills asked her because she was sorry for her," answered Betty slowly, "and Helen is pleased because she doesn't know it. Mary, she's been awfully lonely."

"Too bad," commented Mary. Unhappiness always made her feel awkward.

"But she says this makes up to her for everything," added Betty.

"Oh, I've noticed that life is a pretty even thing in the end," returned Mary, relieved that there was no present call on her sympathies, "but I must confess I don't see how one dinner invitation, even if it is from----"

Just then Helen tapped on the door.

Down in Miss Mills's room they were discussing much the same point.

"It's a shame for you to waste your Sundays over these children," said Miss Hale.

Miss Mills stopped her tea-making to dissent. "It isn't wasted if she cared. She was so still that I couldn't be sure, but judging from the length of time she stayed----"

"She was smiling all over her face when we met her," interrupted Miss Meredith. "Who is she, anyway?"

"Oh, just n.o.body in particular," laughed Miss Mills, "just a forlorn little freshman named Adams."

"But I don't quite see how----" began Miss Hale.

"Oh, you wouldn't," said Miss Mills easily. "You were president of your cla.s.s when you were a freshman. I was n.o.body in particular, and I know what it's like."

"But why not leave it to her friends to hearten her up?"