Miss Evison wasn’t accustomed to this ceremony from the rank and file of the college body. She was rather surprised, but she was too much occupied to be much interested. The diversion was a senior student who was considered exceedingly “interesting” that term, and who had been inattentive enough the last while to set a special premium on his society.
“Oh, going? I’m sorry!” she flipped off in the clear, smooth staccato that always came when she had no point in particular. She didn’t offer him her hand, of course not—and Billy went out vaguely unhappy.
The train for home would leave in the afternoon. There were many things Billy could have done with the morning, but he paced moodily among the term’s wreckage in his room. About ten o’clock a crowd of girls passed the window and a crimson scarf flying from a white skating outfit brought him to, suddenly. The next minute he was unstrapping his trunk and groping for his skates.
Miss Evison in her skating rigs seemed far more of a flesh and blood creation than when she was made up for the evening. She was less formal, too, and Billy felt more sure of himself. They had made one circle of the rink when a new crowd of students came in. Billy didn’t know
them; they belonged to a clique by themselves. They could steer a toboggan down a hill, or balance a tea-cup with the dexterity of long practice. Why they had chosen agriculture as a profession was a mystery, but from the standpoint of tearooms, flowers and theatres, they were very select young men. As she passed them with her new attendant, Miss Evison observed that their attention was casual and it set her thinking. She realized that perhaps she had been overdoing things. It was one thing to let the attentions of a very good-looking and unknown young man create a sensation at a dance, and quite another matter to keep up the acquaintance.
After rapid consideration, she cut right into Billy’s enthusiastic account of the carnival after the last hockey match with a sister college. She didn’t interrupt him rudely, of course. If you’re just socially cultivated enough you can do anything without being rude.
“I had almost forgotten,” she said, “this is the last skate of the year. A lot of the people I know are here, and I don’t want to be—exclusive.”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I should have thought, but it seemed such a little time.”
It had been a little time, scarcely five minutes, and it occurred to her that possibly he had more intuition than she suspected. It was not at all what she desired, that this boy from the country, whom she had chosen to be nice to, should question
anything she wanted to do, whether it was right or not.