The more enthusiastic Tippie grew, the more he aspirated his vowels, always, and to-day the school, seeking an outlet for pent-up feelings, seized on his.
“Hold Hem Haitch!
Hold Hem Haitch!”
they all shouted together, and not one more fervently than Jacquette, who, from the row of Sigma Pi girls, smiled straight into Bobs’s face, as she sang
“Beat our captain if you can!
We’ll defend him to a man!”
Then, suddenly, she felt Quis looking coldly at her, and, in spite of all she could do, her voice weakened and her eyes fell. A cloud had come over her gladness.
The meeting went on. One after another, the members of the team stood up, received their sweaters, acknowledged them properly, were duly cheered, and sat down. Marquis was last, the only substitute to win an “M. H.” that year, and his little speech of appreciation, as Mr. Branch handed him the box, was perfectly turned. Jacquette was proud of his appearance, but she felt, through and through, the contrast between his reception and the one given to Bobs.
Marquis was admired; Bobs was loved. As the mass-meeting broke up, with the boys all crowding around their captain, she realised, with a sense of girlish elation, that she—Jacquette Willard—was going to her first dance, that night, with the hero of Marston High!
From that moment until the evening was done, she forgot Marquis’s displeasure and lived in a fairy tale. Her feet scarcely staid on the floor while she dressed for the dance. The filmy blue gown, the white slippers, the long white gloves, even the sparkle of her own eyes and the glint of gold in her hair, as she saw herself in the mirror—all seemed new and bewitching.