Nell said, still laughing:—
"It's just struck me that it's rather hard on my hat!"
CHAPTER XIII
Denis was immersed, fathoms deep, in unutterable gloom. It was the all-important day, at last. That morning he had risen in wild spirits. "Don't believe my poor old essay is so bad after all! Anyhow, what's it matter?"
At luncheon time he was still hilarious; at tea time down, down in the depths. His thermometer had been very much like that in regard to his speech, up and down, down and up, for the past week.
"It's tea time, Denis."
"All right." He glanced up from his notes with his eyebrows up, his forehead wrinkled. "T'won't make any difference whether I go on reading up or not—it's awful rot, anyway."
"It's grand," declared Sheila Pat, and the Pearl chattered his teeth angrily at the enthusiastic squeeze she gave him.
"Don't lose heart, Denis, it's a fine speech," said Nell.
"It's stiff—stilted," he said, frowning.