interposed Tom mockingly, as he overheard the latter part of the sentence. Whereat Philip, somewhat embarrassed, was glad to see Angelina at the door announcing "Dinner is served," and leading the way with Miss South the others followed them to the dining-room.
As they took their places Philip found himself beside Pamela. He had seen her but two or three times since her Freshman year at Radcliffe, and in consequence would hardly have dared venture to allude to that sugar episode through which he had first made her acquaintance. But Pamela, no longer sensitive about this misadventure, brought it up herself. Though Philip politely persisted that it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to see before him on a Cambridge sidewalk a stream of sugar pouring from an overturned paper-bag, Pamela assured him that to her he had appeared like a hero on that memorable occasion, since he had saved her from a certain amount of mortification.
"But I'm wiser now," she said; "I hadn't studied philosophy then," and she quoted one or two passages from certain ancient authors to show that she had attained a state of indifference to outside criticism.
Gradually Pamela told Philip much about her school, to prove that it wasn't simply philosophy that helped her enjoy her work.
"So it really is your interest in them that makes your pupils so fond of your classes."
Then, in answer to her word of surprise, he added:
"Oh, my little cousin, Emily Dover, one of your most devoted admirers, has been telling me—I believe that you have the misfortune to instruct her."
"Ah, the good fortune! She is a bright little thing, if not a hard student."
"You could hardly expect more from one of our family."
"Why, your sister seems to me fairly intelligent."