Part 3 (1/2)

”You swear it?”

But I hurried out of the door and slammed it behind me.

I turned down the walk that led across the campus to the point whither Miss Poole was directing her steps, and I took a gait that I judged should meet her at the intersection of the walks. I was doing some hard thinking, for I knew the window behind me was crowded with derisive faces.

As I approached her, I cut my eye at her, and a glance nearly overthrew my resolution. She was, indeed, a charming picture as she advanced, though I caught little more than a general impression of a slim, straight, statuesque figure, a pink face, surmounted by a profusion of light hair, under a big hat with white feathers, and a pair of bluish eyes. I glanced away, but not before she had caught my eye. Just then a whistle sounded behind me, and my nerve returned. I suddenly quickened my pace, and held out my hand.

”Why, how do you do?” I exclaimed with well-feigned surprise and pleasure, plumping myself directly in front of her. She paused; looked at me, hesitated, and then drew back slightly.

”I think--, I--. You have made a mistake, I think.”

”Why, do you not remember Henry Glave? Is this not Miss Belle Henderson?” I asked in a mystified way.

”No, I am not Miss Henderson.”

”Oh! I beg your pardon--I thought--” I began. Then, as I moved back a little, I added, ”Then you must be Miss Lilian Poole; for there cannot be more than two like you on earth. I beg your pardon.”

I backed away.

”I am,” she said. Her mounting color showed that she was at least not angry, and she gave proof of it.

”Can you tell me? Is not that the way to Dr. Davis's house?”

”Yes--I will show you which it is.” My manner had become most respectful.

”Oh! Don't trouble yourself, I beg you.”

”It is not the least trouble,” I said sincerely, and it was the only truth I had told. I walked back a few steps, hat in hand, pointing eagerly to the house. And as I left, I said, ”I hope you will pardon my stupid mistake.”

”Oh! I do not think it stupid. She is a beauty.”

”_I_ think so.” I bowed low. I saw the color rise again as I turned away, much pleased with myself, and yet a good deal ashamed, too.

When I returned to ”the lair,” as we termed Sam Pleasants's room, the boys seized me. They were like howling dervishes. But I had grown serious. I was very much ashamed of myself. And I did the only decent thing I could--I lied, or as good as lied.

”I will give the supper if you will stop this yelling. Do you suppose I would make a bet about a girl I did not know?”

This took the spirit out of the thing, and only one of them knew the truth. Marvel, who was present, looked at me seriously, and that night said to me half sadly,

”You ought not to have done that.”

”What? I know it. It was an ungentlemanly thing.”

”I do not mean that. You ought not to have told a story afterward.”

How he knew it I never knew.

But I had gotten caught in my own mesh. I had walked into the little parlor without any invitation, and I was soon hopelessly entangled in the web at which I had hitherto scoffed. I fell violently in love.