There was nothing for her to do but take out her bead-work and occupy herself with that as best she could until the arrival of her room-mate.
She set her door invitingly open, ready to meet more than half way any advances her neighbours might choose to make.

While she sorted her beads she amused herself by fitting together the scraps of conversation which floated her way, and making guesses as to the personality of the speakers.

Twice her open door brought the reward of a transient visitor.
Once a jolly Sophomore glanced in to say "I just wanted to see who has the American Beauty room.

That's what we called it last term when Kitty Walton and Lloyd Sherman had it." Soon after, a girl across the hall whom Mary had already identified as one Dora Irene Derwent, called Dorene for short, darted in unceremoniously with an agonized plea for a bit of court-plaster.
"I cut my finger on a piece of glass in a picture frame that got broken in my trunk," she explained, unwinding her handkerchief to see if the bleeding had stopped.

"I can't find my emergency case, and Cornie Dean never was known to keep anything of the sort.