"He said: 'Thank you—I see the point—you aren't Freshers any more. And, perhaps ... Yes—the manner's wrong.' Then, quite suddenly, he laughed. 'The Oxford man—ah! eh, Miss Uniacke?'
"I felt rather a fool then, Peter."
Irrelevantly, she added: "He's got nice eyes when he laughs."
"Oh ... Jill, Jill!" McTaggart's glance swerved from the steering wheel aside to find his little friend's face flushed beyond the excuse of the breeze.
"Anyhow, we shook hands," Jill went on hurriedly, "and he said, 'Well I hope at the next lecture I shall find a more attentive class.'"
"So I told him I'd see to that! and I went downstairs and talked to the girls. And the next Friday we were good. You could hear a pin fall," Jill laughed.
"I must say he looked nervous but, when the lecture was over and he stood on the platform ready to leave, Judy got up and gave the signal—'Three Cheers for Mr. Jackson.'
"We let it rip—such a row! He looked rather taken aback but awfully pleased, said 'Thank you, ladies,' and then simply did a bolt."
"Well, I'm blessed!" McTaggart roared—"but glad I'm not a Professor for girls."
"We thought him such a brick, you see, for not reporting the whole matter. And, after all," Jill smiled—"he can't help his red hair."