It is odd how positions shift. Eleanor Watson had spoiled all the chances that had seemed so brilliant at the beginning of her college course, and Helen Adams, shy, awkward, unfriended little freshman, had become that envied and enviable personage, a "prominent girl." Betty had helped, and Madeline and Miss Mills, but Lucile, without trying to, had done more than any of them. She regarded her roommate in the light of a strange phenomenon, both amazing and amusing and absolutely unique in her experience of girls; and she spread this view of Helen widely among her freshman friends. And Helen blossomed out. She saw that at last the girls really liked her for herself, and enjoyed her quaint little fancies and original ideas about persons and places. And so, as Mary Brooks put it, she let herself go; she forgot to be sensitive and frightened and ill at ease, and before she knew it all her dreams were coming true. She was somebody "at last"; the class of 19-- and the clan both wanted her and were proud of her.