elivered the message, assured herself that the guests were
enjoying themselves, and forgot all about Eleanor until half-past nine
when every one had gone and she came up to her room to find Helen in bed
and apparently fast asleep, with her face hidden in the pillows.

"How queer," she thought. "She's had the blues for a week, but I thought
she was all right this evening." Then, as her conjectures about Helen
suggested Eleanor's headache, she tiptoed out to see if she could do
anything for the prostrate heroine.

Eleanor's transom was dark and her door evidently locked, for it would
not yield when Betty, anxious at getting no answer to her knocks, tried
to open it. But when she called softly, "Eleanor, are you there? Can I
do anything?" Eleanor answered crossly, "Please go away. I'm better, but
I want to be let alone."

So, murmuring an apology, Betty went back to her own room, and as Helen
seemed to be sound asleep, she saw no reason for making a nuisance of
herself a second time, but considerately undressed in the dark and crept
into bed as softly as possible.

If she had turned on her light, she would have discovered two telltale
bits of evidence, for Helen had left a very moist handkerchief on her
desk and another rolled into a damp, vindictive little wad on the
chiffonier. It was not because she knew she had done her part badly that
she had gone sobbing to bed, while the others ate lemon-ice and danced
merrily down-stairs. Billy was a hard part; Mary Brooks had said so
herself, and she had only taken it because when Roberta positively
refused to act, there was no one else. Helen couldn't act, knew she
couldn't, and didn't much care. But not to have any friends in all this
big, beautiful college--that was a thing to make any one cry. It was bad
enough not to be asked anywhere, but not to have any friends to invite
oneself, that was worse--it was dreadful! If she went right off
up-stairs perhaps no one would notice; they would think at first that
somebody else was looking after her guests while she dressed, and then
they would forget all about her and never know the dreadful truth that
nobody she had asked to the play would come.

When it had first been decided to present "Sherlock Holmes" and the
girls had begun giving out their invitations, Helen, who felt more and
more keenly her isolation in the college, resolved to see just how the
others managed and then do as they did. She heard Rachel say, "I think
Christ