“Why, a fellow that does nothing but study—just grubs. It’s awful to be like that!”
Fanny sat upright again.
“Well, I declare!” she said. Then she sighed. “You’re the funniest thing!”
“There were some fellows I knew,” Guy conceded, “who could do a lot of work and yet go in for all the society things; but they were wonders. I never pretended to be much at study, you know. If I got through my ‘exams’ by the skin of my teeth I considered myself lucky.”
Fanny looked at him thoughtfully. “Well, you’re kind of a nice boy, just the same.” She cuddled in the corner of the chair and crossed her arms, her hands clasping her shoulders. “I never was much at lessons myself,” she admitted. Then she turned quickly toward the door. “’Sh! I see some people coming.”
From the hall they heard a woman’s voice. “Well, I declare! I feel played out. I’ve done nothing but bump against people all the evening; all kinds of people, too. I never saw so many nationalities in all my life.”
“It’s Mrs. Burrell,” Fanny whispered. “You know her, don’t you?—that queer old woman from Maine, with the three daughters. Let’s go out.”
Mrs. Burrell had entered the room, and started on discovering Guy. Fanny was hidden behind the back of her chair. “Excuse me, if we’re intruding,” she said to Guy, with effusive politeness and a bow that somehow suggested an intended curtsey.
Fanny lifted her head like a Jack-in-the-box. “Oh, not at all, Mrs. Burrell. How d’you do?”
The old woman started. “How you scared me!”