ing as if she had seen a ghost. "She's
come," she gasped, "and she's crying like everything."

"Who?" inquired Eleanor coolly.

"My roommate--Helen Chase Adams."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't say a word--just grabbed up my books and ran. Let's study till
Nan comes and then she'll settle it."

It was almost one o'clock before Nan appeared. She tossed a box of candy
to the weary students, and gave a lively account of her morning, which
had included a second breakfast, three strawberry-ices, a walk to the
bridge, half a dozen calls on the campus, and a plunge in the
swimming-tank.

"I didn't dream I knew so many people here," she said. "But now I've
seen them all and they've promised to call on you, Betty, and I must go
to-night."

"Not unless she stops crying," said Betty firmly, and told her story.

"Go up and ask her to come down-town with us and have a lunch at
Holmes's," suggested Nan.

"Oh you come too," begged Betty, and Nan, amused at the distress of her
usually self-reliant sister, obediently led the way up-stairs.

"Come in," called a tremulous voice.

Helen Chase Adams had stopped crying, at least temporarily, and was
sitting in a pale and forlorn heap on one of the beds. She jumped up
when she saw her visitors. "I thought it was the man with my trunk," she
said. "Is one of you my roommate? Which one?"

"What a nice speech, Miss Adams!" said Nan heartily. "I've been hoping
ever since I came that somebody would take me for a freshman. But this
is Betty, who's to room with you. Now will you come down-town to lunch
with us?"

Betty was very quiet on the way down-town. Her roommate was a bitter
disappointment. She had imagined a pretty girl like Eleanor Watson, or a
jolly one like Katherine and Rachel; and here was this homely little
thing with an awkward walk, a piping voice, and short skirts. "She'll
just spoil everything," thought Betty resentfully, "and it's a mean,
hateful shame." Over the creamed chicken, which Nan ordered because it
was Holmes's "specialty," just as strawberry-ice was Cuyler's, the
situation began to look a little more cheerful. Helen Chase Adams would
certainly be an obliging roommate.

"Oh, I wouldn't think of touching the room till you get back from your
French," she said eagerly. "Won't it be fun to fix it? Have you a lot of
pretty things? I haven't much, I'm afraid. Oh, no, I don't care a bit
which bed I have." Her shy, appealing manner and her evident desire to
pleas