“Bobs:
“Yes.
“Jacquette Willard.”
She laid this circumspect epistle on Bobs’s desk as she passed out of the study-room to her English class, and two minutes later Blanche Gross, acting the part of a Sigma Pi guardian, came hurrying after, and sitting down beside her, said reprovingly:
“You shouldn’t write notes to Bobs Drake, Jacquette. The minute you were out of the room he showed it to Rex Morton, and they both laughed.”
“Let them!” Jacquette returned, flushing. “There was nothing in it that the whole world mightn’t see. That’s the only kind of note I ever write to boys, and I didn’t learn the habit from Sigma Pi Epsilon, either!”
Then, having heaped her secret vexation with Bobs and Rex on the head of Blanche, who was the most prolific writer of notes in the whole sorority, Jacquette proceeded to give conspicuous attention to her English teacher.
It was an eventful moment when she walked down the street from Marston with the broad-shouldered captain of the football team at her side, and Jacquette hugely enjoyed the sensation she knew she was causing among the girls. Then they turned the corner, and, without giving her time to puzzle longer, Bobs began abruptly:
“I suppose you’re wondering what I want, and I’ll tell you, to begin, that I never would have written you that note if I hadn’t believed that you’re absolutely square.”