“Don’t cry,” he said, almost daring to be tender. “There’s nothing to cry about now, you know.”
“I think there’s plenty for me to cry about,” she said, looking up through her long wet lashes. “It is so terrible for me to be the one that is to blame. Papa swears he’ll never forgive Bob, and your aunt—”
“Lord love you!” he exclaimed; “don’t worry over me or my aunt. I don’t. I don’t mind anything, with Holloway staked in the ditch. I can get along well enough now.”
He smiled—actually smiled—as he spoke.
“Oh, you mustn’t speak so,” she said, blushing; “indeed, you must not.” And smiled, too, in spite of herself.
“Who’s going to stop me?” he said. “You know that you can’t; I’m miles the biggest.”
She looked at him and tried to frown, but only blushed again instead. He put out his hand and took hers into its clasp.
“I’m everlasting glad to shake college,” he declared gayly; “it never was my favorite alley. I’ve made up my mind to go to work just as soon as I get these pastry strips off my head.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Anywhere. I don’t care.”