Of all the delegation from school, Jean Story alone had not seemed aware of his imposing stature. She was sitting between Hungerford and Hunter, whom she called by his first name, and her way of speaking, unlike the impulsiveness of her companions, was measured and thoughtful. She had a quantity of ash-colored hair which, like her dress, seemed to be floating about her. Her forehead was clear, a little serious, and her eyes, while devoid of coquetry, held him with their directness and simplicity.
He found himself only half hearing the conversation that Miss Sparkes rolled into his ear, watching the movements of other hands, feeling a little antagonism to Hunter and wondering how long they had known each other.
Dinner over, he forgot his shyness, and went up to her with the quick direction which was impulsive in him when he was strongly interested.
"I want to talk to you," he said.
"Yes?"
She looked at him, a little surprised at the bluntness of his introduction, but not displeased.
"You are very like your brother," he said. She seemed younger than he had thought.
"I am glad of that," she answered, with a genuine smile. "Bob and I are old friends."
"I hope you'll be my friend," he said.