"Was there anything new, or merely the same old story as before?" asked Helen.

"Who can tell? You know Rosa's mother had been a house-servant in Virginia and Rosa had a host of relatives there. Mrs. Mader—you remember the Doctor Mader who sometimes attends mother? Well, Mrs. Mader had been West. There she made the acquaintance of a southern woman who talked much of a Rosa Williams, who did some work for her. Mrs. Mader was interested and asked all sorts of questions. This Rosa Williams, so the southern woman said, was a handsome mulatto woman about forty years old. She also said that she had several children and that one in particular had neither the features nor coloring of a negro."

"Poor Aunt Harriet!" said Helen. "If only she would give up hope. She is wearing herself out in this way."

Hester was delighted with this new acquaintance. She had known few boys. Jane Orr's brother, Ralph, had been her ideal of what a boy should be. Jane had not let his good qualities pass unnoticed. But Hester was inclined to think that Robert Vail surpassed Ralph in every particular. Helen had told her much of this one cousin who took the place of brother to her. He was in his last year in medical college, and had led his class for three full years. Yet he was not a bookish man. He was of a social nature, fond of company, and outdoor life, taking as much interest in cross-country walks and athletics as he did in his studies. Hester was thinking of these matters while Helen and Robert were talking. She had been sitting with her eyes upon the floor, listening in a half abstracted fashion. She raised her eyes suddenly to find Robert Vail's eyes fixed on her in scrutiny. Her cheeks grew crimson and she looked away.

"I beg pardon," cried the young man, "I seem destined to annoy you with my rudeness. The first time I met you I mistook you for Helen. The resemblance is not so marked now that I see you together."

"Yet we are often mistaken for each other," said Helen, "if the hall is just a little dark, the girls mistake us. Often I am called Hester."

"It would have to be very dark if I were to mistake you now after once seeing you together.

"I wish to explain to Miss Alden why I was looking so intently at her now. I've seen my mother sitting that way many a time. There was something about you which made me think of her."

"You told me she was very beautiful," said Hester, saucily turning toward Helen.

"Hester Alden, are you really fishing for compliments?" asked Helen, pretending to be shocked at Hester's question.

"There is really no use of fishing when the compliments are floating on the surface within your reach," said the young man gallantly.

This was all very pleasing to Hester. She had not been accustomed to receiving such compliments or attention and she felt quite grown up and elegant.

Robert Vail's gallant manner was of short duration. He looked at Hester again, and grew quite serious. Very strange ideas came to him. He had a queer feeling that somehow his mother had made a mistake in not calling at the seminary that morning, and that he stood nearer the truth than he had ever stood before. These thoughts prompted him to turn to Hester with questions which were pertinent and personal.

"Where do you live, Miss Alden?" Hester told him. She wondered as she did so why he had asked the question as though it were of moment.

"Who are your people? Have you always lived there?"

He had touched Hester on the one delicate subject of her life. She had pride enough for several girls. Not even Aunt Debby knew how her lack of parentage and name had hurt her. She had never permitted herself to think of it, lest she should grow depressed and unhappy. And to think that now this Robert Vail whom she had liked so much, had presumed to question her. Like a flash, it came to her that perhaps he had met Kate Bowerman or Abner Stout and they had told him that she had been left a waif on Debby Alden's hands and that her people had cared so little for her that they never came to find her.

For an instant, pride was up in arms. Her one thought was to defend herself at whatever cost. All Aunt Debby's precious training was flung to the winds. She raised her head proudly and looked directly at him. In her eyes was a look of defiance; the crimson of annoyance and shame flamed on her cheeks.

"Who are my people?" she repeated his question. "As my name is Alden, I presume my people also were of that name. My father and mother died when I was a babe, and my father's sister, my Aunt Debby Alden reared me."

Her annoyance was evident. Robert Vail was vexed with himself for having caused it. "I am always falling into error, Miss Alden. If you forgive me this once more, I shall promise not to annoy you again. I fancy my question was personal. I asked it because of the resemblance to my mother and cousin. It came to me that you might be a relative. Though I doubt if you would wish to claim us. We are a bad lot. I am really the only fair specimen among them."

"Such insufferable conceit," said Helen. "Everyone knows that it keeps all the other members of the family taking care of you."

"Which proves what I have just said. I am the family jewel. It behooves them to take care of me, lest I be lost or stolen." Turning to Hester, he held out his hand. "Am I forgiven?" he asked.

Hester, ashamed and abashed, laid her hand within his. "I am sorry I spoke so hastily," she said. But the red did not leave her cheeks, nor the hurt look from her eyes. She blushed for the statement she had made. "'My father was Aunt Debby's brother.' It was a lie—nothing less than a lie," she kept saying to herself and the thought spoiled the entire day for her. It spoiled more than that, too. Perhaps, had she told the truth, she would never again have need to blush for her lack of name or to misunderstand her people for not coming in search for her. Her little sin bore its own fruits with it; yet Hester believed she was paying the debt by being sorry and ashamed.

"About your going with me," Robert turned to his cousin. "Mother said I was to play escort and take you anywhere you wished to go."

"Aunt Harriet's not coming may make a difference. The preceptress gave me permission to go with the understanding that we were in your mother's charge."

"I shall take as good care of you as mother. Better care, I fancy, for she would be helpless if she had to manage a machine."

"It is the idea of not living up to the conditions," replied Helen. "If you and Hester will excuse me, I will explain to Miss Burkham. Perhaps, she will not object to my going with you. She would if you were not a cousin."

She went directly to the preceptress and in a few moments returned with that lady herself, who listened to the story of the difficulties.

"We intended stopping to see Aunt Debby," said Hester. "I wrote her a note yesterday, telling her to expect us."

"You may go under these conditions," said Miss Burkham, "that you go directly to Miss Alden's aunt's. If she can accompany you further, very well. Otherwise you remain at her home until you are ready to return to school. Under any circumstances you must be here before five o'clock. Be kind enough to set your timepieces with the tower clock. Then there will be no excuse for not being here on or before the hour appointed. You may get your wraps. I shall entertain Mr. Vail until your return."

Miss Burkham was always exacting. Her speech was frank and sometimes even blunt; but she had such a sense of justice and fitness of things, that her decisive words were never galling, even to the most sensitive of the girls. Her manner was gracious and her smile kindly. She would put herself to no end of trouble to add to the happiness of the pupils; on the other hand, she would go to no end of trouble to see that the rules of the school were rigidly enforced and that the girls under her care would do nothing unbecoming a lady or which might bring criticism upon their heads.

Soon the three were on their way. For three days, Hester Alden had enjoyed the ride in anticipation. But now something had gone from it. The buoyancy of spirit which was generally hers and the power of enjoying the most trifling affairs had deserted her. She sat silent until Helen rallied her. Then she made an effort to be her usual bright talkative self; but it was plainly an effort. She was forcing an interest in what was going on about her. Her mind dwelt only on the statement she had made to Robert Vail.

"It was a lie, a lie," she kept repeating to herself. She was almost afraid to meet Aunt Debby. How Aunt Debby despised anything of that kind! Hester felt that her clear gray eyes would look straight down into her heart and read the lie which had made a mark there.

Robert Vail observed that Hester was more than quiet. She was depressed and anxious.

Debby Alden was prepared to receive the guests. She, with Miss Richards, had a lunch ready to serve. She had smiled when she arranged her table service. She had given it the right touch of daintiness and refinement. There had come to her, the remembrance of certain conditions of her life and her manner of doing things before Hester had come into her life. She had spoken her thoughts to Miss Richards.

"I have been a different woman ever since I found Hester," she said. "Life holds so much more for me than it did before—a great deal more than I ever hoped to have it hold. I wonder what I would have been had Hester gone her way that day and not have come into my life."

"You would have been Debby Alden," said Miss Richards, "a woman of conscience and principle. You would have been the same Debby—only with the narrower view of life. You would have been an old woman instead of a bright, interesting, beautiful, young girl of forty."

Debby Alden had blushed at the speech.

"You and Hester have conspired to spoil me. I think you are leagued together to make me vain and worldly. What one does not think of, the other does. It was only last week that Hester wrote me some very silly nonsense about not one of the women at the reception, looking half so fine as I. Of course, I know the child does it merely to please me."

Miss Richards nodded her head in negation. "You know she means every word she says, Debby. Hester could not prevaricate, even to please you. As to its being nonsense, you know it is not. We think what we say and you like to hear us say it. Why not express ourselves? There is nothing in the world that is as great as love. The greatest thing in the world! Why then should we go through life with silent lips, or lips which open only for criticism while all the time love is really in our hearts? Is it not lovelier and kinder to express our love while the loved ones are here to listen?"

This had been Miss Richards's philosophy of life. It had been her love as well as Hester's which had brightened and developed Debby Alden. Their words concerning Debby's being beautiful were not flattering. She was beautiful with the beauty which comes from fine principle, high ideals, and a warm, love-filled heart. People had turned in the streets for a second look at Debby Alden, while she, wholly unconscious that she had grown so attractive, moved on her way without knowing of the eyes turned in her direction.

Debby went down to the gate to meet her guests. She took Hester in her arms. In an instant her intuition told her that something was wrong.

"What is troubling my little girl?" she asked.

"Nothing, Aunt Debby. Nothing at all. Oh, how sweet to be back home!" She threw her arms about Debby Alden's neck and hugged her with a vehemence which caused that lady to gasp for breath.

Helen and Miss Alden had never met. Debby at once noticed the resemblance between Helen and Hester. She greeted the former as she had done her own little girl. Then she turned to Robert Vail and holding out her hand, said merrily, "I shall forgive and believe now, since I know you have a cousin Helen and she does resemble Hester. Until this time, I thought it all a myth of your own making, manufactured for the sole purpose of annoying two plain country folk."

Rob Vail laughed as he took her hand in his own firm clasp. "I do not know whether I shall allow myself to be forgiven under such circumstances. You would not have faith in me until I presented the proof and that is really no faith at all. I wish to be trusted without evidence."

He laughed again and held Miss Debby's hand tight in his own while they moved up the walk toward the tiny cottage.

"From this time, I shall have faith in you, though evidence is lacking," she said.

She liked the boy. She had never before been so pleasantly impressed by a young man as she had been by him. He was wholesome, clear-eyed and unaffected.

Debby Alden recognized these virtues in him and received him at once into her home and friendship. She liked his college talk; his bright way of making his smile and voice put his words at fault. Yet, while he entertained her she was not wholly unconscious of two things—that Hester was not herself, and that the resemblance between the two girls was not the result of mere chance. Suddenly she turned to Helen with the question:

"Have you any sisters? Did you ever have any?"

"No, unfortunately, I am an only child," was the reply.

"Which may account for any peculiar little traits of character or manner," said Robert Vail. "Only a brother or sister is able to 'comb one' thoroughly smooth. They trim the plant of self-esteem; they nip the bud of selfishness before it can bloom; they serve their purpose, nuisances though they are—these brothers and sisters."

"How unfortunate that you never had any. You might have been—" Helen left the sentence unfinished, implying by her tone that he might have been all that he was not.

"But you served the same purpose, cousin. You have never failed in your duty toward me. You are worth a dozen brothers and sisters when it comes to 'combing one down.'" They laughed at the sally and might have carried it further had not Miss Alden led the way to the lunch table.

CHAPTER X

Hester in the exuberance of spirit, hugged the little German lady who was as fat as a dumpling. "Fraulein Franz, you are a dear old soul if you do get your English verbs confused. You would dance and laugh and spill your ice-cream too, if you were to play on the scrub team."

"Gra-shus," said Fraulein. "Pardon me, I did not know the cause. I wonder not that you much rejoice."

She retired to her room. Hester laughed again, but softly this time for Miss Burkham's office was not a great distance away.

"The dear old Fraulein! To think of her begging my pardon for reprimanding me. I am only too glad it was not Miss Burkham. If she had seen me, I'd had two weeks on the campus and someone else would have been compelled to carry my cream from the wagon to the coping."

The other east dormitory girls had heard the news and were quite as well pleased as Hester. Mame Cross had been forbidden by her father to play any but practice games. He thought she grew too excited for her own good. It was her place on the second squad which Hester was to fill.

Helen had used her influence in behalf of her roommate; for there were ten other players who would have been as well pleased as Hester was, had it fallen to their lot to substitute. Fortunately they were a liberal, broad-minded set of girls. They were not envious, but rejoiced with Hester in her good fortune.

As Hester hurried down the main hall to the dormitory stairs, she found her own particular set of friends waiting for her on the landing.

"Here she is!" cried Erma. "We have been looking everywhere for you. Isn't it simply grand to think that one of our set got on?"

"I'm glad you've got it, since I couldn't," said Mame. She had always the expression of one on whom Fortune had frowned. On the contrary, she had fairly basked in that lady's smiles, since the first day of her babyhood.

"I don't see why father will not let me play. There's no danger of my hurting myself, and what if I should? He has an idea that I am such a precious article that I should be done up in cotton. One thing, Hester, if you play a match game, you'll look better than I do. My basket-ball suit was a fright; but then, I never do have anything that looks like other girls."

Hester was about to express herself contrary to this sentiment, when an audacious remark from Erma caused her to fall back in silence.

"You see how it is, Hester," explained Erma later as the two walked arm in arm down the hall. "Mame is the best dresser in school. She has the best-made clothes and the best taste about choosing them, and you never see a pin or hook loose. Yet we never yet have heard her say she was satisfied. So we just concluded that we wouldn't encourage her. When she begins to complain and find fault with her lot, we'd look as though we pitied her. It isn't a bit of use of trying to convince her how lucky she is.

"Now, I am always the other way." Here Erma paused long enough to laugh merrily. "I'm satisfied with everything. My father is simply grand; I just adore this old seminary, and I think the girls on our hall are the sweetest things, and I never had a dress in all my life that wasn't simply a dream."

The girls rejoiced with Hester, all except Berenice. She went through with the form of congratulations, but her voice had a sarcastic touch and her eyes had narrowed themselves into mere slits. Her words were a little uncertain as to meaning; but Hester to whom all things appeared beautiful, was in no mood to take exception.

"I'm sure I'm glad you're on the scrub," she said slowly. "I'm always glad to see people get what they work so hard for."

"Thank you, Berenice. You girls have all been lovely. You do not have a bit of jealousy about letting a 'freshie' step in ahead of some who have been here two and three years."

"We want to win games," cried Louise Reed. "Whoever makes goals for us, suits us whether she's a freshman or a senior. Get the pennant and we'll carry you home on our shoulders."

They had come to Sixty-two. Erma and Mame in company with Berenice walked on down the corridor.

"I'd love to have been put on; but since I wasn't I am glad that Hester was. It was fair, too. She's played better than any other one on the team. She gets excited but she doesn't lose her head."

Berenice sneered. "To get on the team, one must learn to toady," she said. "No doubt if you had played lackey to Helen Loraine, you would have been playing scrub."

Erma turned suddenly to look at the speaker. There was no laughter now in either her eyes or voice as she, gazing steadily at Berenice, asked, "Do you mean to say that Hester Alden plays lackey to Helen? Do you mean to say that Helen would permit it if Hester were foolish enough to do so, and furthermore do you mean to say that Hester was not chosen for the simple reason that she is the steadiest player among the substitutes?"

Berenice shrugged her shoulders. Her little beady eyes had their lashes drawn down upon them until they had narrowed into a mere slit.

"How you do fly up, Erma! I really did not think you had such a temper; but one thing you may rest assured of: it is always you sweet girls who fly into a passion at the slightest word."

"I have never posed as being a sweet girl, and I am not in a passion now. I have asked you a question which you have evaded. You have insinuated things about girls who call me their friend and I will never let such matters pass. I wish you to answer my question before we go one step further."

Erma stood still. The others did as she did. Berenice laughed lightly. "How very silly. A perfect tempest in a tea-cup simply because I choose to get off a joke."

"If that is a joke, it is in horribly bad taste," was Erma's retort.

"You are unjust, Erma. How many times have I heard you laugh at Helen for trying to stand in with the teachers, and for letting Mame copy her translations."

"Hundreds of times, but you always heard me laugh and jest when the girls themselves were present and when every one who heard, knew that it was mere fun. It was mere give and take between every one of our set who were present. You have yet to hear me criticise an absent girl, or jest about her."

Again Berenice shrugged her shoulders as though she would dismiss the subject.

"I am glad I am not ugly-tempered," she said and walked away without a backward glance at the others. For a moment, Erma was wounded. Then the humor of the situation came to her. She laughed until the silvery echoes rang from one end of the corridor to the other; and the girls begged to be quiet lest the hall-teacher follow in their footsteps and they be sentenced to solitary confinement on the campus.

After receiving the congratulations of her friends, Hester had gone to her room. Helen was busy preparing a lesson for the session the following morning.

"Of course, you know what has happened," cried Hester. "Of course you do. I can see by your eyes. Miss Watson sent for me to come to her and then told me. I knew who proposed my name. It was you, Helen Loraine. I cannot possibly thank you, and I never in the world can repay you."

Flinging her arms about her roommate's neck, Hester embraced her warmly all the while declaring that she would never be able to repay her.

"Yes, you surely can," said Helen. "Play a good game and justify my recommending you. That will please me best of all."

"I shall do that for your sake, for my own, and for the team's."

Helen stood silent a moment, considering whether she had better tell Hester all her plans. She decided that she would and drawing Hester down on the cosy corner, which had been improvised from trunks, she continued: "For several reasons you must play well the next two weeks. Three weeks from next Saturday, we play the girls from Exeter Hall. They are the hardest squad we'll meet. Their coach is a college woman and a specialist in physical culture and athletics. The Exeter team is the best-trained one we'll come up against. We'll take along four substitutes. Maud plays well for the first half, but she tires easily. I intend to substitute for her on the second half, and if you justify my doing it, I'll let you take her place."

"Really?" That one word was all that Hester Alden could command at that moment; but it spoke volumes. To the girl it seemed as though the one ambition of her school life was about to be fulfilled—to play on the first team.

She did not consider herself alone in this. Aunt Debby was always first in her thoughts. Ever since Mary Bowerman had taunted her with being a waif, Hester had realized how much the foster aunt had done for her, and what sacrifice of time and money, she had made. The one way which Hester saw to repay the obligation, was to do those things which would reflect credit on the Alden name. Playing on the first team would do that very thing for never before in the history of Dickinson, had a freshman been so honored.

Hester had reached such a degree of happiness that she lacked expression either by words or motion. She could but sit still in the cosy corner, her hands clasped in her lap and her eyes looking steadily before her. So she sat for some minutes but in those minutes, she anticipated every play in the coming game. She saw the goals she would make; she could hear the referee call out the score and read the figures which the score makers were writing down. She could see Aunt Debby sitting in the gallery; she could hear the applause which swept over the hall.

"Really? Do you really think there is the least chance for me?" she asked at last.

"I really think so. I might say I am quite sure," replied Helen. "Miss Watson always permits me to choose my substitutes. I would almost promise but—"

"Don't promise. I would not have you do that. During the next two weeks I might lose my head and not play well at all," she said.

"I'm not afraid of that," replied Helen. "But it does not seem fair to the other girls to have me pledge myself to you, before you have had a single practice on the scrub. I try to be just, but sometimes I am afraid I am a little partial in choosing the ones I love best. Because you are you, I might be unjust to the others. Do you understand why I would rather not promise, little roommate?"

"Yes, I know."

The subject ended there. Helen went back to her work. Hester tried to keep her mind upon her books; but one might as well have tried to charm a butterfly. Her thoughts flew from the game to Aunt Debby, and back to Helen and the attitude she had taken in regard to the game.

Hester had no doubt that Helen had a great affection for her. There had been some sweet and gentle evidence of it since the first week of school. Hester was beginning to understand what the girls had tried to convey to her that first day of school, when Sara had declared that Helen had such an air. It was the grace which was the expression of fine breeding, intellect and kindliness of heart.

As Hester thought of these things, she could have gone down on her knees to Helen just as she would have done to Aunt Debby.

"We'll be friends all our life. Whatever happens, we will never quarrel. It is lovely to have a friend like Helen." These were the thoughts which came to Hester. Inspired by them to express herself, she opened a note-book and under the date of the month and year, she wrote what had been in her thoughts.

Helen was one who had much affection in her nature, but was never sentimental. She was intensely practical when it came to her work. After her talk with Hester about the work on the team, her mind turned to the petty details, the fulfillment of which meant success.

"I wear my gray basket-ball suit when we play with an outside team," she said to Hester. "You have never seen it. It has D. S. in gold and blue letters. Dickinson Seminary. It looks well, and the suits are really pretty. Mine, however, is beginning to show wear. I have had it for three years. The last time we played over at Kermoor, a hook came loose on the shoulder where my waist fastens. It was a trifle but it almost caused me to lose that game. It pestered me until I could scarcely think of anything else. I made up my mind then that I'd never be placed in such a position again. While I have it in mind, I am going over those hooks and eyes and sew them so tight that they cannot possibly give."

"Why not come out on the campus now, Helen? The girls are going to walk along the river's edge as far as the campus reaches and then climb over the hill and come back the other way. Miss Watson will come with us."

"If I do I'll neglect those hooks. I had my gym work to-day and do not need exercise. You run along and I'll discipline myself about the hooks." She laughed softly at her own remarks.

"Very well. If you will not, you will not," replied Hester, drawing on her red sweater and Tam-o-Shanter. "I'll be off or I'll keep them waiting, and you know Miss Watson does not approve of that."

She went her way down the hall. She was a picture good to look at, and which would have pleased more eyes than the partial ones of Debby Alden.

Upon Hester's departure, Helen went to her sewing. The gray gymnasium suit hung in a public press at the end of the hall, and it took her some time to find her own among the others which hung there. Her needles and thread were at hand, but hooks and eyes were lacking. She found that the waist required several additional hooks and what were in place hung by a mere thread.

"I have a card of hooks somewhere," she said to herself. "I remember distinctly putting in everything in the line of mending that I might possibly need. I remember now. What I thought I would not need often, I put in the bottom of the closet."

The closet floor held quite an assortment of boxes. Articles which the girls used seldom, had been stored here out of the way. Helen remembered that a box with hooks and eyes, buttons and glove-silk had been placed in there, early in the fall when she had unpacked the trunk.

She and Hester had been careful about not infringing upon each other's closet room. Each had her allotted space and number of hooks; but keeping the floor divided was not so easy. Boxes had been moved and shoved about until it was impossible to know whose they were.

Helen sat down on the floor and began a systematic search; in turn opening each box and examining its contents. It required system for the boxes were many and the confusion great. There were handkerchief boxes, spool, candy, and shoe boxes of all sizes and conditions.

She had opened each one without discovering the articles which she needed. She was about to put them back in their places when a little dark covered box, hidden deep in the corner, attracted her eyes. Without a thought that she might be infringing on someone's else right, she took up the box and opened it. She gave a sharp exclamation at the sight of its contents. She sat with it opened in her hand, looking at it steadily. Then she replaced the lid and put the box with the contents just as she had found them, back in the corner. She put the floor of the closet in order, and then went back to her work. She found her card of hooks and eyes in the bottom of her sewing-bag. She was busy sewing them on when Hester came in. They greeted each other as usual, yet Hester was conscious that something was different.

"Are you ill, Helen?" she asked.

"No, Hester."

"Are you worried?"

"What should I have to worry me? You have been gone less than an hour. What should happen in that time to make me either ill or anxious? I have been putting the floor of the closet in order. I am afraid I opened some of your boxes, but I did not disturb their contents."

"No matter if you did. I am glad the closet is in order. It surely needed some attention." Going to the door she flung it wide. "How nice it looks. The boxes piled up like a shoe-store. I wonder how long it will remain that way."

Helen watched her closely. Hester must indeed be a capital actor, for she had showed neither anxiety nor embarrassment at hearing that Helen had opened the boxes.

After dinner that evening, no conversations were carried on between the two girls. Helen, contrary to her habit, went directly to her room and did not mingle with her friends in the library or parlor. She was in her study garb and presumably deep in study when Hester came back to her room. She neither spoke nor raised her eyes at Hester's entrance. Her eyes were upon the text, but she was not studying. She was reviewing certain little incidents of Hester's being with her. A score of trifles to which she had then given no thought, now appeared in gigantic proportion with most pretentious signs. Hester had shown no interest whatever when the pin had been lost. She had not helped look for it. Just before the holidays, Helen remembered it clearly now, she had found Hester in the closet. Hester had blushed and stammered and appeared much confused and had replied curtly to Helen's questions. It was really very suspicious. Helen did not like to think of such matters. She had no desire to think evil of any one; but the evidence was there. She could not go past that. She had trusted Hester, and had really loved her. Hereafter she would trust and love no one.

Even after the close of the study hour, there was no opportunity for conversation; for at the ringing of the half-hour bell, Helen, contrary to her habit, went down the hall to the room of one of the seniors. She did not ask Hester to accompany her and the latter was hurt by the omission. They had been together almost six months and in that time such a thing had never before occurred.

Hester slowly made ready for bed. The fumes of chocolate and fudge in the making were wafted to her from the rooms at the lower end of the hall, and the chatter and laugh came with them. No one called her to come. She felt forsaken and lonely. Such occasions previous to this, she had not waited until a special invitation had been given her, but joined and helped with the merry-making. She felt that something stood between her and Helen. Just what that something was, she did not know, nor could she surmise. There was nothing tangible for her thoughts to work upon to reach a conclusion. She instinctively felt that something was wrong. In this particular case, instinct was stronger than reason. She crept into bed, although the retiring bell had not rung. The two little iron cots stood side by side with only a narrow space between them. Helen had always been the deliberate one of the two. Hester was generally in bed before Helen had finished her reading. It had been the latter's habit to come to Hester's bed and softly kissing her on the forehead to whisper, "Good-night, little roommate."

It was for this good-night that Hester was waiting. She would insist then upon knowing what troubled Helen or what had gone wrong to cause this feeling of alienation. She would have cried had not her pride sustained her. The tears were very near the surface but she forced them back. She would cry for no one, no matter how that one treated her.

A few moments before the retiring bell, Helen came into the bedroom. Knowing that she was late and that the lights would soon be turned off, she prepared hastily for bed. She did not once glance toward Hester, but that might have been because she was hurried. While Hester lay and watched her, the lights went out. She heard Helen laugh softly and say, "Just in time. I just gave the last turn to my hair."

Then she moved toward the cot, but she moved toward the outside and not near that of her roommate. Hester was overcome with homesickness. Her pride took to itself, wings. Raising herself in bed, she turned toward Helen.

"Have you forgotten something, Helen? Are you not going to bid me good-night?"

"Surely. Good-night, Hester."

"But not that way, Helen. I mean the way you always have done."

There was silence for an instant. To Hester it seemed as though hours had passed before Helen replied gently and firmly, "Not to-night, Hester. I—I—cannot—to-night."

CHAPTER XI

To Hester it was tragic. The alienation was a genuine sorrow to her. To one who merely looked on, the two girls were acting foolishly. A few words would have cleared away the misunderstanding and saved them from suffering. Helen acted from what she thought was a high sense of justice; Hester's action was from pride only.

The other girls in the dormitory knew not the cause of the estrangement, for both Helen and Hester had that sense of honor which impelled them to keep closed lips on such matters. The intuition of the girls told them that affairs between Helen and Hester were not quite the same. That was as far as their intuition carried them.

In spite of Hester's unhappiness, matters at Dickinson moved on as before. Renee came to borrow; Erma laughed merrily; Mame wept over the condition of her clothes which looked as though they were fresh from the French tailor; Josephine grew eloquent on moonlight, love-stories, and kindred subjects; Mellie Wright came and went like a gentle ray of sunshine. The strangest part of all to Hester was that Mellie, who never appeared to notice what took place, was first to grasp the situation. Before the week had passed, she made an occasion to join Hester on the campus. No reference at all was made to the state of depression which hung over Hester like a cloud, but before the two had parted, the younger girl carried with her these impressions:

Everything comes right some day, and that day comes when least expected; nothing matters if one continues to do what is right, regardless of other people's opinion of one; and if one is blue, the best thing to do is to do something and do it quickly.

Mellie did not put her philosophy into those words, nor did she make a personal application for her companion. The strongest impressions are those which we receive unconsciously. After this talk with Mellie, Hester's pride and ambition were aroused. She was indignant with herself that she had given way to any show of feeling and vowed to herself that from that instant she would not lose control over her emotions.

Fortunately for her, basket-ball practice followed close on her resolutions and putting her thoughts into action, strengthened her.

She played right guard on the scrub team with Edna Turnbach opposed to her. Edna was little, wiry, and active, an opponent that was really worth while.

Hester cast her troubles to the wind and went into the game with all her energy. Edna was quick, but Hester matched her with cool calculation. Her long strides were equal to Edna's quick ones; and she had the advantage of length of arms which could be kept beyond Edna's reach.

The left guard on the scrub team was Emma who resembled a little Dutch doll wound up and set to moving. Emma had no guile in her disposition and was utterly lacking in self-assertion. She admired Hester's playing and never failed to play the ball into her hands. Just the moment Hester's hand touched the ball, Emma encouraged her with cries of "Show them how to play, Hessie. Show them how scrubs play when they once get started."

Emma was both an inspiration and an advantage. Hester played with all her energy. To watch her, one might believe that all the future depended upon the winning of the game.

For the first half, she had the ball the instant the captain's hand had left it. Passing it on to Emma with a quickness and deftness which was almost beyond belief, she rushed forward in position to receive Emma's return pass. It was no easy matter for Edna was close at her heels and the center stood in her way. But by quick side movements, a sudden jerk beneath outstretched arms, the thing was done.

Only once during the first half was the ball worked back to the goal of the opposing team; but even then it did not make a score. For three minutes, it went from end to end of the cage and at last went from the hands of the scrubs on a foul that Emma had made.

During the game, Hester was not only playing right guard. She played the game alone with a little assistance from Emma—a game of solitaire. She was the team and made every score.

Miss Watson and Doctor Weldon stood in the gallery looking on.

"Hester Alden is a brilliant person," said Miss Watson. "She will amount to something if she continues."

"She can do little in mathematics. She'll pass on about seventy-five per cent," said Miss Laird. She had long since erased Hester's name from her good books, for Miss Laird knew only angles and equations, fixed values and ratios, and had no conception of nor admiration for a mind which was not as her own.

Miss Watson laughed at this remark. She was more liberal-minded than Miss Laird and was not disappointed to find that her girls were not all of the same type.

"You can open an oyster with a pen-knife as well as a chisel," she said.

Miss Laird glanced at the speaker. She was logical but not witty. Seeing that she did not grasp the meaning, Miss Watson continued.

"Taking the oyster as each one's little world, you know, Miss Laird. I have known men and women who have achieved a wonderful amount of success and happiness who could not have made seventy per cent on one of your examinations."

Doctor Weldon had listened in silence. She had sat watching Hester during that intense first half. She read deeper than either of her teachers.

"I am fearful for Hester," she said at last. She spoke so low that only Miss Watson heard her. "She is too easily hurt, and she'll fight off showing it until she drops from exhaustion. If I know the girl, her good playing this evening is not so much for love of the game, as it is to hide the fact that something has gone wrong."

"Rather an excellent trait. Do you not think so?" said Miss Watson. "Personally, I despise a whiner, and haven't a bit of sympathy for a girl who goes about asking for pity. Pride is a good thing when it helps us cover up our own bruises."

"It is very fine, if it is not overdone. You know you cannot keep all the steam in a boiler under high pressure. There must be a safety valve or—trouble. I hope Hester will not be too intense. Intense folk need such a lot of self-control, or they make every one miserable about them."

The conversation stopped at this point. The practice game was over and Miss Watson went below and into the cage to see that the girls were taking the necessary precautions in regard to wraps.

"Hester Alden will play at Exeter," was the general opinion at the close of the game.

"I am sure of that," said Sara Summerson. "During the game I was where I could see Miss Watson. Nothing escaped her. She watched every move Hester made. Emma was all right at first, but that foul put her on Miss Watson's black list. I could tell that. You know how Miss Watson presses her lips together and nods her head when she's pleased. Well, she did that every time Hester made a good play."

"I will not get a chance to go," said Emma. "I am sure of that. I'd like to, for I know lots of Exeter girls. There's a whole bunch of them from up our way."

"You speak as though they were flowers," laughed Erma, as she hurried down the steps from the gallery to join the girls. "A bunch of girls and a bunch of flowers, I presume that is a figure of speech, but nevertheless I would not let Doctor Weldon hear me, if I were you. She might fail to see how flowery it is, and think you are using slang."

Josephine was leaning against the balustrade. Her cheeks were pressed upon her upturned palm and her eyes were raised toward some remote region in the direction of the ceiling. Her hair was bound with a Greek band. She had seen to it that her short-waisted dress was suggestive of Grecian lines of beauty.

"I rather like that term," she said slowly. "We say a bunch of flowers; then why not a bunch of girls. Somehow I always think of flowers when I see a group of girls together. Do people never make you think of flowers? Some seem to me like lilies, others like shy, modest violets."

"Oh, cut it out!" said Emma, disregarding the rules in the use of language. "Just at present they make me think of a lot of empty vessels which will be emptier if they are not out of these duds and into dresses before the ten-minute bell rings for dinner."

Emma strode on down the hall, in company with Mame Cross and Edna Bucher. Edna had her arm around Emma's waist, although she was fully six years Emma's senior. But the younger girl's father was a bank president, a railroad magnate, and a number of other important persons, and Edna believed in cultivating friendship where it would bear fruit worth while. Emma was lavish and Edna fell heir to many discarded trifles and was never ignored when Emma had a spread or banquet.

"Josephine is too sentimental," said Emma placidly. "If she would only waken and talk sense, she would be fine."

"She's such a sweet girl," said Edna. Every woman, girl or child she had ever known, came under that general heading in Edna Bucher's good books. They were "sweet." That was always the sum and substance of her criticism. There might have been a reason for such a general judgment. As in the case of Josephine, obligation fixed the limit of Edna's expression. She was at that moment, wearing a shirt-waist which Josephine had purchased only to find it too small for comfort in wearing.

During the three weeks before the game with Exeter, nine practice games were played between the first team and the scrubs. In these Hester Alden played right guard. She had never missed a goal which she had attempted and had never made a foul. There had been one or two instances when she might have done quicker work in passing and kept the ball from the control of the opponent; but they were minor faults which faded into insignificance before her more brilliant plays.

During this time, Helen had maintained the letter of courtesy toward her roommate. But there was no longer any show of affection or love between them. Nothing had been said about the trip to Exeter. However, Hester was counting upon it. She knew that her playing had justified Miss Watson and Helen in selecting her. Miss Watson was the head of the athletics, yet the choice of players in reality rested with Helen.

Miss Watson permitted this because she believed that girls who were in sympathy with each other could work together better than where there was an unfriendly feeling or antagonism. Hester, relying on being chosen as a substitute for the Exeter game, made ready her suit, purchased a new pair of gymnasium shoes, and was about to write to Aunt Debby concerning the trip.

The games were played on Friday evening, unless the distance was too great for the visiting team to reach the school in a few hours. Then Saturday afternoon was given over to them. Several days before, Miss Watson read out the names of the substitutes and the teacher who would go in charge of the girls. This important reading took place immediately after the general gymnasium work in the afternoon.

Wednesday morning, Berenice went about with a very wise expression. She looked as though she could tell a great deal if she were insisted upon. Erma, meeting her in the hall, fell prey to her hints and insisted that she tell the secret that was weighing her down.

"I was in the office waiting to see Doctor Weldon," said Berenice. "Miss Watson was in the private office talking with the doctor. It was something about the players for the Exeter game. You know Miss Watson must always give the list to Doctor Weldon before it is announced. Something unusual happened, for they debated a long time. Of course, I could not catch the words. I did not try; but I could not help knowing that there was a discussion."

"There generally is," said Erma. "Doctor Weldon will not allow a girl to play unless she is up in her work and her conduct. Campused twice, and your throat is cut for any work in athletics."

Berenice's face flushed. The reference to being campused touched her.

"This was more than that. It was an argument; Miss Watson held to one idea and Doctor Weldon to another." This was growing interesting. A group of girls clustered about Berenice to hear the startling news.

"Did you hear who the substitutes were?" asked someone.

"Why ask that?" said Sara Summerson slowly.

"I am not brilliant, nor yet am I observing; but I know who the substitutes will be if the choice is according to their playing."

"If it is," said Berenice.

"I think it always is," said Mellie gently. "It would be very foolish to have it otherwise; to risk our securing the pennant on account of a little personal feeling. I do not like to feel that people are unjust. They have always treated me fairly."

"They always will," said Erma.

"They have never treated me fairly," said Berenice. "Every one I meet always tries to make something from me or treats me unfairly."

Erma laughed and the girls followed her fashion.

"They always will, Berenice," she said. "People always find what they are looking for. You always find in every place just what you carry there. You are out looking for trouble, and you will find it waiting around the corner. If you will persist in going about with a chip on your shoulder, you may be sure that someone will take pleasure in knocking it off."

"But the players," cried Emma. "Who are they? When will Miss Watson read the names?"

"I did not hear the names, but I did hear her say that she intended making them public at gym this afternoon."

"I intend to ask Doctor Weldon if I may go over with the girls," said Emma. "Of course, I know that I will not be allowed to play and I don't care much about it. I'd have just as much fun looking on and rooting. I know a dandy lot of girls over there."

"You had better see her early then," said Louise Reed. "She will not grant more than ten extra permissions and I know a number of girls who intend going."

"I'll see her the first thing after luncheon," said Emma. "She will not let us come before one-thirty."

"Whatever you do, Emma, do not get excited and tell Doctor Weldon that you know some 'dandy' girls at Exeter. She will not allow any of us to go if she hears from you that the Exeter girls are of that type. Be careful, Emma."

Emma shrugged her shoulders and tried to look serious, but the effort was a failure, for the dimples came to her cheeks and rippled into smiles. She turned to Mame and asked if she were going.

"I—going?" exclaimed Mame. "How can I go? I haven't a thing fit to wear."

"You might wear your new blue broadcloth," suggested Louise Reed.

"New? Why, I had that before the holidays. I never did like it. I shall not go with you girls and look shabby. You always look so well and I will not put you to shame."

"I am sorry for you," said Erma. "I'd offer you my tan coat suit which I have worn but two years, only I need it myself; it being the only one of its kind that I have."

"You may laugh," said Mame. "But I am telling you the truth. I haven't a dress fit to wear."

"No congregating in the hall, if you please. If you must talk together you will find the parlor open to receive you." Miss Burkham had come among them and spoke with a voice of gentle authority.

"Yes, Miss Burkham," replied six voices together, as the six bowed and moved to their rooms.

The rumor that the names of the players would be read that afternoon filled the ranks in the gymnasium. A number of girls had received permission to be absent, but on hearing the rumor, they reconsidered and decided that they were able to be present. The period of exercise dragged along. The girls went through with the drills with as much animation as one might expect from an automatic machine. Their eyes were upon the clock whose hands moved provokingly slow. But it came to an end, as all things must after a time.

Miss Watson gave a signal to the pianist to stop playing. Then stepping to the front, she bade the girls to be seated. They found places on the floor, on the horse and the mattresses which lay along the outer edge of the floor. A few drew themselves up on the horizontal bars and balanced there carefully while Miss Watson drew forth her paper, looked it over and then began her preliminary remarks. One could have heard a pin drop, so quiet was the room.

"As you know, we play the Exeter team in their gymnasium, Friday evening," began Miss Watson in her brisk, business-like way. "The game will be called at eight o'clock. We shall have a two-hours' ride to reach Exeter. The last train from our station leaves at four o'clock. Consequently, the faculty will excuse from lessons Friday afternoon, all the girls who play."

"Or root?" finished Emma. She was balanced on the bars. The sound of her own voice so startled her that she nearly lost her balance and was saved from falling only by Louise's clutching her firmly by the shoulder.

Miss Watson turned toward Emma and looked her reprimand. "What have you to say concerning the matter, Miss Chase?" she asked. The tones of her voice would have disconcerted any one but Emma. Hers was an effervescent spirit which could not be suppressed. She smiled upon Miss Watson as she replied, "The girls who go along to root—will they be excused, too? You said the players will not have any lessons Friday afternoon. What about the girls that root?"

Miss Watson looked her scorn of the question and questioner. One thing which had been discountenanced by the faculty and by Miss Watson in particular, was the word "rooting" and all it stood for.

Miss Watson ignored the questions and continued, "Miss Burkham had planned to accompany you—."

The girls gasped. With Miss Burkham in charge they would not be allowed to speak above a whisper. She would compel them to be all that was elegant and conventional.

"—but she has found that to be impossible. Neither Doctor Weldon nor I can leave the school, so Fraulein Franz will have you in charge."

There was a relaxation of muscles. An expression of amusement and relief spread over the faces of the girls. Dear Fraulein Franz! She would be with them like a mother hen with a brood of ducks. With the Fraulein they would do much as they pleased, and she would attribute it to the peculiar customs of the country.

"The first team will be made up of the regular players. Three substitutes will accompany the team. Doctor Weldon thought three would be sufficient. I shall read the names of players and substitutes." Taking up the paper, she read.

"Captain, Miss Loraine—Players: Misses Turnbach, Cross, Bucher, and Loveland. Substitutes: Misses Reed, Chase, and Thomas."

That was all. Hester's heart had been in her throat at the beginning. Now she felt cold and chill. She had been so confident. The girls knew that she had expected to be chosen. They knew that she had her suit in order, with gay new letters across the blouse. She sat quite silent and motionless on the mattress propped against the wall. She could not raise her eyes to meet the eyes of the girls. She could not speak to them. The girls did the kindest thing they could do. They went off without attempting to speak to her, or to offer her condolence or sympathy.

When she raised her eyes, she found that the gymnasium was deserted and that she was the only occupant.

She arose and went out into the corridor. She could not go to her room and meet Helen. Helen had played her false. Perhaps, the recent assumption of dignity on Helen's part had been to prevent any criticism of this action.

Hester could not remain alone in the gymnasium, neither in her present garb would she be permitted to visit the parlor, nor to linger in the halls. The only alternative was to go to her room, and meet Helen there. The injustice of the choice of substitutes at last appealed to her. Had she been an Alden in very truth, she could not have shown the old revolutionary spirit more.

Wounded feeling gave way; personal pride took to itself wings. The thing was unjust and she would not bear it even from Helen Loraine. Another thing she would not bear—she had borne it too long already—and that was the distant, haughty treatment accorded her by Helen. Hester Alden's spirit arose. She would have justice though she had to fight for it.

The feeling of humiliation left her. Now she had no dread of meeting the girls. She raised her head proudly. Her eyes flashed, and a flush came to her cheeks.

Helen was in the study when she entered. She was evidently doing nothing and had been doing nothing for some minutes. Perhaps she dreaded the meeting as much as Hester. She looked up when the latter entered and spoke, "Well, Hester, are you back from the gym?"

To use Debby's expression, Hester was not one to beat about the bush. Now, she brought up the subject at once.

"Did you or Miss Watson choose the substitutes?" she asked.

"Why, I did. That is, I recommended the ones I wished to play, and Miss Watson agreed that they were satisfactory."

"Helen Loraine, did you choose ones who played the best, as you have boasted that you always do?"

"I took the ones that played well and whom I thought had a right to be substituted."

"Answer me this." Hester walked directly before her roommate. Standing so, they looked into each other's eyes. "Answer me this. Do I not play a better game than either Louise or Emma? Have I not made the score when their fouls would have brought it down?"

"Yes, you have. You are a better player than either. To do you justice, Hester, you play as well as any girl on the first team."

"I do, and yet you passed me over for an inferior player. Is that justice to either the team or me?"

"It does not appear so. Yet one cannot judge from appearances alone. I believed that I did what was fair and honorable."

"I fail to see it that way," said Hester proudly.

"We do not see it from the same point of view."

"Evidently not. But this much I insist upon. I must know the reason why you ignored me when you have acknowledged that I was the best player. I demand the reason."

"Don't you know, Hester Alden? Don't you really know?"

"I do not. There is something else I do not know or understand; that is your treatment of me for the last three weeks. Do not for a moment think that I am begging for either your love or friendship. I wish nothing that does not come to me of its free will. But it was you who first wished to be friends. It was you who always made the first advances. Time and time again, you told me that I was nearer to you than any friend you had ever had and that I seemed more like a sister to you."

"I know," said Helen slowly. "And I meant every word. From that first night you were here, you were never like a stranger. I meant every word I told you."

Her voice was low and sorrowful; but Hester was unmoved. The bitter feeling which had filled her heart for three weeks was now bursting forth in a torrent.

"Much I care for such affection! If that is the way you treat your sister, I am very glad I am not she. Suddenly, without a reason, you grow haughty and rude—."

"Rude! I was never rude, Hester. I was always courteous."

"Yes, with the kind of courtesy which made me angry all over. I wish to tell you right here, Helen Loraine, that I shall not stand being treated so without a reason."

"I thought I had a reason. I think yet I have a reason."

"Then why did you not come to me and tell me point blank? It is far better to accuse me of something definite than to go about acting and looking unutterable things."

"I could not tell you. Even now, if I should tell you and ask for an explanation—."

"I would refuse to give it. It was either your place to come directly to me or to trust me implicitly. I would give no explanation now, if I had a million of them to give."

"But, Hester, listen. I have been as hurt and miserable about this as you. Let me tell you—."

"Here you are. I knocked once and you didn't hear me. Hester, would you just as soon lend me your basket-ball suit? I never gave a thought of going to Exeter and I haven't any letters for my blouse." It was Renee who had interrupted them.

"Yes, you may have it," said Hester. She moved away. The talk which might have resulted in a reconciliation between her and Helen was not resumed and nothing at all came from it.