He made out the cards, writing on the one he kept for himself, “First waltz—Jo.”
“I must go back now,” said Miss Herrick, getting up.
“In that case I shall run—I'm afraid of girls.”
“It's a pity about you.”
“I am; one girl, I don't say, but girl in the aggregate like this,” and he pointed his chin toward the thronged parlors. “It un-mans me.”
“Good-by, then.”
“Good-by, until to-night, about—?”
“About nine.”
“About nine, then.”
Ross Wilbur made his adieu to Mrs. Herrick and the girls who were receiving, and took himself away. As he came out of the house and stood for a moment on the steps, settling his hat gingerly upon his hair so as not to disturb the parting, he was not by any means an ill-looking chap. His good height was helped out by his long coat and his high silk hat, and there was plenty of jaw in the lower part of his face. Nor was his tailor altogether answerable for his shoulders. Three years before this time Ross Wilbur had pulled at No. 5 in his varsity boat in an Eastern college that was not accustomed to athletic discomfiture.