self. "Well, I suppose it's better for me to know--not to go on
hoping, and hoping, and hoping. It means less misery in the end, no
doubt."

There was such a depth of despair in her face and voice that Tims was
appalled at the consequence of her own revelation. She paced the room in
agitation, alternately uttering incoherent abuse of her friend's folly
and suggesting that she should at once abandon the ungrateful School of
_Literae Humaniores_ and devote herself like Tims, to the joys of
experimental chemistry and the pleasures of practical anatomy.

Meantime, Milly sat silent, one hand supporting her chin, the other
playing with a pencil.

At length Tims, taking hold of Milly under the arms, advised her to "go
to bed and sleep it off."

Milly rose dully and sat on the edge of her bed, while Tims awkwardly
removed the hair-pins which Mrs. Shaw had so deftly put in. But as she
was laying them on the little dressing-table, Milly suddenly flung
herself down on the bed and lay there a twisted heap of blue flannel,
her face buried in the pillows, her whole body shaken by a paroxysm of
sobs. Tims supposed that this might be a good thing for Milly; but for
herself it created an awkward situation. Her soothing remarks fell flat,
while to go away and leave her friend in this condition would seem
brutal. She sat down to "wait till the clouds rolled by," as she phrased
it. But twenty minutes passed and still the clouds did not roll by.

"Look here, M." she said, argumentatively, standing by the bed. "You're
in hysterics. That's what's the matter with you."

"I know I am," came in tones of muffled despair from the pillow.

"Well!" Tims was very stern and accented her words heavily,
"then--pull--yourself--together--dear girl. Sit up!"

Milly sat up, pressed her handkerchief over her face, and held her
breath. For a minute all was quiet; then another violent sob forced a
passage.

"It's no use, Tims," she gasped. "I cannot--cannot--stop. Oh, what
would--!" She was going to say, "What would Aunt Beatrice think of me if
she knew how I was giving way!" but a fresh flood of tears suppressed
her speech. "My head's so bad! Such a splitting headache!"

Tims tried scolding, slapping, a cold sponge, every remedy inexperience
could suggest, but the hysterical weeping could not be checked.

"Look here, old girl," she said at length, "I know how I can stop you,
but I don't believe you'll let me do it."

"No, not that, Tims! You kno