y Mason is a dear. I don't know her much if any, but I'm going to
ask her all the same, and perhaps we shall get better acquainted after
awhile."

That made Helen, who took the speech more literally than it was meant,
think of Caroline Barnes. One afternoon she and Betty had been down-town
together, and on the way back Miss Barnes overtook them, and came up
with them to see Eleanor, who was an old friend of hers. Betty
introduced her to Helen and she walked between them up the hill and
necessarily included both of them in her conversation. She was a homely
girl, with dull, inexpressive features; but she was tall and
well-proportioned and strikingly well dressed. Betty had taken an
instant dislike to her at the time of their first meeting and greatly to
Eleanor's disgust had resisted all her advances. Eleanor had accused her
frankly of not liking Caroline.

"No," returned Betty with equal frankness, "I don't. I think all your
other friends are lovely, but Miss Barnes rubs me the wrong way."

Helen knew nothing of all this, and Miss Barnes's lively, slangy
conversation and stylish, showy clothes appealed to her unsophisticated
taste.

When the three parted at the head of the stairs, Miss Barnes turned back
to say, "Aren't you coming to see me? You owe me a call, you know."

Helen and Betty were standing close together, and though part of the
remark applied only to Betty, she looked at them both.

Betty said formally, "Thank you, I should like to," and Helen, pleased
and eager, chorused, "So should I."

Later, in their own room, Betty said with apparent carelessness but with
the covert intention of dropping Helen a useful hint, "You aren't going
to see Miss Barnes, are you? I'm not."

And Helen had flushed again, gave some stammering reply and then had had
for the first time an unkind thought about her roommate. Betty wanted to
keep all her nice friends to herself. It must be that. Why shouldn't she
go to see Miss Barnes? She wasn't asked so often that she could afford
to ignore the invitations she did get. And later she added, Why
shouldn't she ask Miss Barnes to the play, since Eleanor wasn't going
to?

So one afternoon Helen, arrayed in her best clothes, went down to call
and deliver her invitation. Miss Barnes was out, but her door was open
and Helen slipped in, and writing a little note on her card, laid it
conspicuously on the shining mahogany desk.

That was one invitation. She had given the other to a q