“No, no, don’t apologize,” she replied. “Everett has explained. Study before social diversions, Mr. Ryerson, is, I am sure, a very good rule. But you will come in to see us soon, won’t you? We shall be happy to see you any time, and—we dine at half past seven. Don’t wait for Everett to invite you, but come whenever you can.”
Phillip muttered his thanks, feeling rather ashamed of himself for allowing her to credit him with such ideal devotion to study, and turned to the two girls. Betty was smiling across at him brightly, but it was a smile that he didn’t altogether like.
“I’m so glad to see you,” she said as she gave him her hand. “I’ve always had a devouring curiosity to look upon a real, genuine grind.”
“Grind?” he asked uncomfortably.
“Yes; one who burns the midnight oil, and wears wet towels around his head, and heroically resists all such attractions as dinners in order that he may stay locked up in his room studying hard. You’re very interesting, Mr. Ryerson.”
Phillip smiled unenjoyably and was glad for once to turn away from Betty. He shook hands with Miss Wayland, a pronounced and rather regal blonde, and exchanged a few words of banter with Everett. Then he glanced irresolutely toward Mrs. Kingsford and from her to Betty. Betty had perched herself on the window-seat and was temptingly accessible. Phillip took his courage in hand and dropped down beside her.
“Betty!”
Betty’s eyebrows arched in surprise.
“What did you call me?”