and laughing stock. Dora would never wholly trust her again. She would
wonder what Beatrice had meant. By and by she would guess, and the
friendship that Eleanor had meant should brighten her college course,
would be turned to a bitter memory. Whether or not she ever knew the
whole miserable story would make small difference. She, Eleanor Watson,
had made Dora waste her love on a cheat--a thief; she had made Betty
Wales and Miss Ferris help a cheat.

Eleanor's face softened. Betty had been awfully good to Dora. Perhaps,
after all, she had not been the one to tell Mr. Blake. But Betty's
disappointment was not the worst thing. Betty would make other friends--
find other interests. Dora Carlson was different; she had not the talent
for making many friends, and in losing Eleanor she would lose all she
had. For the first time Eleanor realized how mean and contemptible her
action had been, because it did not concern herself alone, but involved
every one of the people who cared about her--Jim and her father, Dora,
Betty, Miss Ferris. It was a short list; perhaps Jean and Kate Denise
cared a little too. She felt no resentment against Beatrice. There was no
room for it in the press of deeper emotions. Her one idea was that she
must do something to save them all. But what? Creep away like a thief in
the night--let them forget that she had ever been a disgrace to them and
to 19--? Eleanor's pride revolted against such a course, and yet what
else was there to do? She had not even arrived at Betty's half answer to
the problem when she undressed in the silence of the great, sleeping
house and, thoroughly tired with her long vigil, forgot the difficult
tangle until morning.