I nodded and tried to find her hand as I looked down.
"So that's where the shoe pinches!" And she whistled thoughtfully.
And just then my upward reaching hand found hers. And yet no, it couldn't be her hand, either; it felt like the crash cover of the cushion—rough and fibrous. And yet, by Jove, it was a hand, for it gave mine a grip that almost broke my fingers and then dropped them. By the time I looked up, I saw only her little palm resting upward on her knee.
It was funny; but I had other things to think about than puzzles.
She sighed. "Well, I'm the one that can feel for you, Dicky." Here the sigh lifted and her laugh pealed like a chime of silver bells. "I guess Brother Jack doesn't know as much about your affairs as he thinks, does he—eh? Why, he told me you were more afraid of a girl than of a mad dog."
And a slapping grip fell on my shoulder that made me tingle from head to toe. And yet I wished she wouldn't do that; if she did it again, I should just lose my head—I knew I should.
But here she rose, stretched her arms, and dropped into the wicker arm-chair. She hitched it nearer to me.
"You see, it's like this," she began, assuming a confidential air. "You know my sister's up at school at Cambridge, too."
"At Radcliffe College—yes." I nodded.
"Why, yes. Well, it's her room-mate!"