On one such occasion, after the committee of four had spent fifteen minutes in the grave discussion of a kindergarten topic, and had filed out with funereal solemnity, Le Baron returned for a more intimate conversation.
Since the night of his introduction to college, Stover had had only occasional glimpses of Le Baron. True, he was generally of the visiting committee that called every other night for perfunctory inspection, but through it all the sophomore had adopted an attitude of almost defensive aloofness and impartiality.
"I want to talk over some of the men in the class," said Le Baron, falling into an arm-chair and picking up a pipe, while his manner changed to naturalness and equality. Stover understood at once that the attitude was a notice served on him of the security of his own position.
"Dink, I want to know your opinion. What do you think of Brockhurst, for instance?"
"Brockhurst? Why, I hardly know him."
"Is he liked?"
"Why, yes."
"Who are his friends?"
Stover thought a moment.
"Why, I think he rather keeps to himself. He strikes me as being—well, a little undeveloped—rather shy."