Wint felt his cheeks burn. Agnes greeted the other two with a burst of rapid chatter that covered the awkward moment. Routt studied Wint, and Joan nodded to him without speaking. Then Routt and Joan went inside, and Wint and Agnes sat three rows behind them.
While the picture was flashing on the screen, Wint watched the heads of the two. He could not help it; and when their heads, silhouetted against the light, leaned toward one another for a whispered word, he felt something boil within him. His reaction was to bend more attentively toward Agnes; and the gay little girl beside him responded to this new mood so that when the film was done and they filed out, she and Wint were the most obviously happy young couple in the house. They had ice cream together at the bakery next door, and walked home in comfortable comradeship, the girl’s hand on his arm.
That night, Wint’s sleep was disturbed and wretched; and next day when he met Routt at the Post Office, he stiffened with resentment. But Routt caught his arm and drew him to one side. “See here, Wint,” he said, “Joan tells me you and she have quarreled.”
Wint nodded.
“You ought to go to her and make it up, Wint. I don’t know what it’s about, but you ought to make it up with her.”
“I’ve nothing to make up.”
“She’s a dandy girl.”
“I’ve nothing against her.”
“It makes her sore to have you chase around with Agnes.”
“There’s no reason why it should,” Wint said stiffly. “She has no hold on me.”