“Oh!” Guy’s face lighted up. “I thought you knew what that meant. Please excuse me. Why, I wouldn’t guy you for anything in the world. The Pudding’s one of our crack societies, that’s all, and the men are elected in batches of ten. It’s a great compliment to be on the first ten. I was awfully proud of it.”
Fanny looked humbled. “I’m just a country girl, after all,” she acknowledged. “And you’re the first Harvard man I’ve ever known. There!” Suddenly she resumed her usual manner. “Now, don’t you take me down like that again, Guy Fullerton. If you do I’ll—Well, tell me about your old society.”
Guy controlled an impulse to rush over and kiss her. He never loved her so much as when she bullied him like that, especially if her bullying, as often happened, followed a moment of contrition or self-abasement.
“Well, it’s all right as a society. The best men in the class belong to it—that is,” Guy explained, with a blush, “a lot of the fellows are perfectly fine. Oh, I wish you could have come to my class day!” he broke out. “A lot of us, together in the gym—that is, the——”
“Oh, I guess I know what the gymnasium is!” Fanny snapped. “I suppose you had heaps of girls there!”
“Oh, yes; heaps!” Guy continued, innocently. “All the fellows said that we had the prettiest——”
“Stop!”
Guy stopped, astonished.
“I don’t want to hear about your pretty girls.” Fanny turned her head away, and Guy hesitated. Then she gave him a sidelong glance and one of her most amiable smiles.
“Well, never mind,” she conceded. “Tell me about it—girls and all. You didn’t really care much for any of ’em, did you?”