"Mail's here." Carol dropped a couple of envelopes in Martha's lap and went to put down her books.

"Hmm? Oh, thanks." Martha turned away from the window, set aside the textbook she hadn't looked at for the past half hour, and began looking listlessly through her mail.

Carol watched her out of the corner of her eye for a minute. "I meant to tell you, I got a get-well card from Jonathan on Monday," she said, carefully casual. "I guess he still thinks I had the stomach flu?"

Martha nodded without looking at her.

"Well, it was nice of him."

Martha nodded again.

Carol looked at her with open concern now. "I've been wanting to ask you about Tall, Blond, and Handsome," she said slowly. "You haven't mentioned him for days. And this morning in class, you didn't even look at each other. What's going on?"

"It's not important."

"Martha, of course it's important." Carol came and sat by her, taking her hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze. "Besides, you'd be doing me a favor. We've been talking about my problems till I'm fed up with them. It would be a relief to talk about yours for a change."

Martha smiled a little, sadly, and squeezed her hand back. "I appreciate it, sweetie, but there's not much to say." She swallowed hard. "He dumped me, that's all."

"Jonathan? Dumped you?" Carol's eyes widened, and then she shook her head. "I don't believe it."

"I was there, Carol! I heard what he said. 'We can't keep seeing each other' is a pretty good sign that you're getting dumped, don't you think?" Martha looked quickly out the window, blinking hard. She was afraid she was going to cry again, and she didn't want to. She was sick and tired of crying.

"With most guys, yeah. But when a guy's as nuts over a girl as Jonathan is over you—"

"Sounds like you're as wrong about that as I was."

"Oh, come on, Martha. In case you haven't noticed, half the females on campus are drooling over Jonathan Kent, and he doesn't know they exist. Helen of Troy could walk past him in the altogether and he wouldn't take his eyes off you. There's got to be something more to this."

Martha was silent.

"Well?" Carol pressed her. "What did he say?"

"I told you already."

"Besides that. Why did he say he couldn't see you anymore?"

Martha took a deep breath. "You want to know what he said?" She gave a brief but thorough description of the conversation. It wasn't hard; the words had run through her head so many times she could have recited them backwards.

"Wow." Carol sat still for a minute, thinking. "That's about the sweetest thing I've ever known a guy to do."

"What?" Martha said sharply. This was not the kind of sympathy she'd been looking for.

"You heard me," Carol retorted. "I can tell you're too mad at him to see straight. But if you'd really think about it—"

"I have thought about it."

"Rationally, I mean. Martha, you've got a complex about people making up your mind for you, and it's no wonder. But Jonathan didn't say what he did because he wants to run your life. He said it because he cares about you. If you weren't so snarled up in your own feelings about your father—and if you weren't so stubborn—you'd see that."

"Thank you, Sigmund Freud." Martha rolled her eyes.

"That was pretty good, wasn't it?" Carol looked surprised at herself. "Maybe I should switch my major to psych."

"Carol—"

"Martha, you know I'm right about this. Jonathan wants the best for you—so much that he put you ahead of his own feelings. Do you have any idea how much a guy like that is worth?" There was a long pause before Carol referred to the subject that had come into both their minds. "He's worth a lot more than M.M.'s millions, I'll tell you that."

Martha stared at the floor, biting her lip. She was seeing Jonathan's eyes when she had said goodbye to him. She had been trying for nearly a week to forget that look. It was so much easier to be angry with him than to think about how much he must be hurting.

"Maybe Jonathan doesn't know what's best for me," she countered, but in a more subdued tone.

"Maybe he doesn't. But you do." Carol leaned forward and looked intently at her. "So maybe you should tell him."

"Carol, I can't hang around whining and clinging to him when he's put an end to things. Even if I could bring myself to do it, it wouldn't do any good. He told me what he thinks."

"But you didn't tell him what you think. You should at least do that." Carol gave her a wistful little smile. "Hey, do it for me, if not for yourself, okay? Right now I think I need to believe there's such a thing as happy endings in the world."

She got up, suddenly restless, and walked over to pick up a letter from her desk in the corner. "Otherwise I might do something really stupid," she added in a strange tone.

It took Martha a moment to catch on; then she jumped up, startled. "Carol, did that guy write to you?" She didn't need to wait for an answer. "Why on earth . . . "

"Well, he doesn't mention it, but I've heard some things about that girl he was seeing behind my back." She stopped to consider. "Or maybe I was the girl he was seeing behind her back. Anyway, they say she's been in and out of mental hospitals." Carol laughed mirthlessly. "No wonder he had psychiatrists on the brain."

"If she's not mentally ill now, she will be by the time he's through with her."

"Yeah, probably." Carol stood weighing the letter in her hand. "So I guess I'm his fallback plan or something."

"Carol, you wouldn't—"

"Oh, I don't know." Carol crumpled the letter, but dropped it back on the desk instead of into the trash can. "I'm not even sure I'd really want to. But I've felt so lonely these past few days." Her voice shook. "I'm not as strong as you, Martha. I hate being lonely."

"Oh, sweetie." Martha went over and hugged her. "I know it's hard. But he's not good enough for you. He's not even good enough to look at a woman after the way he acted—and now he wants to use you all over again. He should be—" she searched for a punishment that would be fitting—"castrated!"

Carol made a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. Martha had to laugh too, but her tone was still serious. "Carol, weren't we just talking about rational thought? Why don't you try it yourself?"

"I know." Carol brushed at her eyes, then attempted another tiny smile. "Well, maybe I will if you will."

TBC . . .