What could she say? To ask her if she felt at home would be a platitude, and Helen knew she did not come any nearer, as if she might be intruding. What a slim figure she had, and her frock was of fine, soft material that clung like the draperies in some of the "studies." She wore a very handsome chain and the watch edge just showed above her belt. Her hands were long and thin and she had a nervous manner of using them. She wore two beautiful rings. Helen took a step towards her. "I wonder if you had such a battle with music as I did," she began, with girlish gayety. "It seemed as if I must have tried Madame's patience until there was nothing left for you. I am beginning to wonder how an excellent player who has an ear attuned to harmony can endure such stupidity." Miss Craven stared with a sort of uncertainty. "I should not think you were stupid. You look so bright and vivacious." "I am afraid I wasn't born with the art of music along with the love for it." "I have studied a little, alone mostly, and find I have some bad habits. And I like it beyond everything." If she only wouldn't be so stiff and distant! "I never touched a piano until I came here. And one can't expect to be an expert in four lessons," Helen said in a half-humorous tone. Miss Craven flushed and it was not a pretty color. "You like it here? Were you a new scholar this year? You look very young." "I was fourteen in the summer. Yes, I am a new scholar. But I have grown very much at home." Then there was a pause. Helen bethought herself of the other question. "Yes, I like it extremely. It is such a beautiful place. I've been studying the sunset and wishing I could paint a picture of it. I've come to wish so many things of late," laughing at herself. "And I like the teachers. I don't know many of the seniors, and I am in junior B." "I am taking some private lessons," hesitatingly. Poor girl! She could not even have passed a junior B examination. "There's such a pretty girl at your table. Her hair is the color one sometimes gets in a sunset, a bright gold, and yet it isn't the color so much as the curious waviness and stir all about it. It seems alive. And her complexion is beautiful, her eyes fairly laugh." "That is Miss Mays. She isn't really in our class. She's an 'A' scholar. Every month someone new is elected for hostess. You are at the head of the table. You see that everything is served, that no one is--well, not exactly rude or awkward, but not up to the mark. And you keep a certain order." "I spilled my coffee this morning. My spoon was in my cup and I just touched it with my cuff. I wish I could have gone through the floor or run away. But one has to learn all these nice things if one means to--to be anybody." "I learned some of them in the summer. I was with a friend," and Helen flushed without quite knowing why. "I was a regular country girl--on a farm."