The two young men stood watching Lydia, who was chatting with Professor Willis. The dress was out of style. Even their masculine eyes recognized that fact, yet where in the room was there a mass of dusty gold hair like Lydia's, where such scarlet cheeks, where such a look of untried youth?
"Oh, well, it was just something Olga said," began Gustus.
"Olga makes me sick," said Kent, and he stalked over to claim a waltz with Lydia.
It was altogether an intoxicating evening and at its end Lydia pulled on her last winter's overcoat and clambered into Kent's little automobile, utterly satisfied with life.
"Well, did I give you a good time, Miss?" asked Kent, as they chug-chugged down the Avenue.
"Oh, Kent, it was wonderful!"
"And you don't feel as if I were a villain any more? You've forgiven me?"
"Forgiven you? For what?"
"For not agreeing with you on the Indian question. Gee, I was sore at you, Lyd, that morning at the hearing, and yet I was like your Dad. I was proud of you, too."
"Oh, don't let's talk about it, to-night, Kent," Lydia protested.