“How nice he looks!” murmured Terry. “Why!” she exclaimed. “He’s shaved off his mustache. I’m sure he had one when I saw him raking up leaves a couple of days ago!”
“Yes, he has,” agreed Sim. “But what of it? I think he looks better without it.”
“Hush! He’ll hear you,” warned Arden. She was staring in a strange manner at the young man.
“He’s coming right this way,” went on Sim in a low voice. “Can’t we do something besides standing here and staring at him as though we came here purposely to see him? Walk, talk—do something!”
“Let’s pretend we’re after some apples,” suggested Terry, stooping down but gathering only a small nubbin.
Sim followed her example, but Arden appeared to be fascinated by the oncoming Tom Scott. She did not move or speak. She just stared at him in a way that would have drawn rebukes from her chums had they seen her fixed gaze.
Tom Scott came on, grinning cheerfully, as he was close to the girls, disclosing white, perfect teeth.
“Altogether too good-looking for a gardener at a girls’ college,” Sim found herself reflecting as she looked up.
“We—we thought we’d take a few apples,” faltered Terry. “I suppose there—there’s no—objection.”
By this time she and Sim were aware of Arden’s queer actions or, rather, lack of action, for Arden was still motionlessly staring.