“What is it!” asked Sam, after we had wandered into the center of the big space that was surrounded on all sides by the building. I told him, and then I said, “It surprised me; he has talked about her—so much that at first I thought he must have known her, but she wrote she’d never known any one named Wake, and now—he doesn’t want to know her—”
“Match-maker?” asked Sam.
“No,” I answered, and a little sharply, because I was still disappointed, “but I thought he’d like it. And they are both so nice, and Miss Sheila is lonely—you can see it sometimes, although perhaps she doesn’t know it—and I did think that if they liked each other it would be nice—”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Sam, “I’ll let you make a match for me. I’ll pick out the girl, and you’ll tell me how to get her—”
“All right,” I promised, and I felt more dismal than ever. I don’t know why, but I did.
“That please you?” he asked.
“Not entirely,” I answered with candor, “I think you’ll ruin your career if you marry too early!”
“It doesn’t look as if I would,” he stated, and he sighed. And I felt worse than ever.
“That’ll be the end of our friendship—” I prophesied, and I felt sad, and my voice sounded it.
“Sometimes it is,” Sam answered, and then he laughed. I didn’t see how he could. It was a pleasant day, and the court was full of sunshine, and the grass and even some of the rose bushes were green—but everything looked bleak to me—I felt alone, and blue.