“Exeter for us,” decided Patricia; “and let’s hurry. I’m starved.”
After a good dinner, accompanied by much joking and laughter, Jack escorted Patricia up toward College Hill, while Craig hurried back to the office of the Granard Herald, after promising to spare the principals as much as possible in his story.
“Little did we think this noon what we were in for,” said Jack, as he was about to leave Patricia at the entrance of Arnold Hall. “I’m sorry to have gotten you into such a jam.”
“You!” protested the girl. “Why, it was all my fault. If I hadn’t picked those flowers—bloodroot’s certainly the right name for them.”
“But if I hadn’t urged you to cut—”
“Oh, Jack, we had a good time; and, as for the unpleasant part, well, it didn’t last long. And it was an unusual experience.”
“But it’s not over yet; all the publicity, and talk. Of course, I could stand it; but—”
“You think I couldn’t!” finished Patricia with a flash of anger in eyes and voice. “I always try to be a good sport.”
“You are; and I didn’t mean—” faltered Jack, distressed.
“Listen!” said Patricia, her anger gone in a minute as she saw that he was really disturbed. “Everybody will laugh and joke about it for a while, and then—pouf! It’s all out, just like a candle. Nothing lasts very long.”