"I quite forgot to introduce myself," he said, with quick, boyish impulsiveness. "My name is Lawrence—Barry Lawrence."
A faint, shadowy smile curved the girl's lips. The warmth of the room was beginning to touch her cheeks with color, and make her even more lovely than before.
"It will be easier," she conceded gravely. "I am Shirley Rives."
"From Virginia?" Barry inquired quickly, then bit his lips. "I beg your pardon," he added contritely. "I forgot for a second that I meant to ask no questions."
"That one doesn't matter," she said quietly. "I am from Virginia. Since you've asked it, though, I'll venture one myself: Do you happen, by any chance, to be a Harvard man?"
Barry stared. "Why, yes!" he exclaimed. "How in the world did you guess?"
"You seem rather like other Cambridge men I've known," she answered slowly. "I had a cousin there, and his friends used to visit——"
She broke off abruptly, as if regretting that she had been so frank, and for a moment there was silence as she touched one of the forks nervously.
"I don't know that it makes much difference," she went on at length. "His name is Philip Calvert. Perhaps you knew him."
Barry laughed boyishly, and then bent forward with sparkling eyes. "Of course I did!" he exclaimed. "He was a junior the year I was graduated. To think of my meeting Phil Calvert's cousin in New York! I knew chance was going to bring me something pleasant when I started out this evening."