His gentle gray eyes were as pathetic as a frightened lamb’s. Kitty couldn’t bear it. She darted back to the kitchen to tell Mrs. Evans about him.
“He’s been sitting there utterly dejected for the last half hour.”
“He’s Ned Miller,” explained Sally. “I’ve noticed him several times lately—seems awfully depressed.”
“He doesn’t even know they’re dancing and playing games out there in the hall,” Kitty said.
“I’ll see if I can draw him out,” Mrs. Evans volunteered.
She strolled from the kitchen and pretended to be busy at the counter. In a casual manner she addressed Ned, “Wouldn’t you like to dance a bit?”
“No, thanks, I don’t want to dance.” His tone was flat from lack of interest.
“They’re scarce of girls tonight, but we’re not so busy either. I could spare one of the Canteen girls to play a game of checkers with you, if you like.”
“No, thanks.”
Just inside the kitchen door Kitty and Sally listened to Mrs. Evans’s overtures of friendship.