This girl was no frank child, but a woman, full-grown, delightfully attractive in her wonderful knowledge of things he had not even considered; and alluring in her teasing, half tender, half patronizing manner toward him.
Billy’s own feeling was as perplexing to him. His mother had warned him against the usual “puppy love,” so frank, so ludicrous, that, did not most fathers and mothers have a blushing yet happy remembrance of first-love affairs, they would promptly lock up the younger culprits till the spell wore off.
But Billy’s case was different. Erminie, preeminently the beauty of the school, knew well how to steer an affair safely and in propriety, as when she chose she knew how to make a fellow look “the silliest sort,” in this last art making her largest success with the Kid.
In the park they chose a seat slightly back from the main paths that they might talk freely. Billy had intended to heed Sydney’s warning so far as not to be seen out with Erminie for a few weeks. He knew that turbulent days were coming, and if Jim really cared for her, Billy had no desire to inflame him unnecessarily.
Yet here and now that very thing happened. They were barely seated when he passed them, halted a second, lifted his hat, but was not recognized by Erminie, and passed on with a scowl that Billy understood.
“How was it you didn’t bow to him?”
“I never will, after what he said about you. I heard what happened this afternoon.”
Billy was uneasy. “It doesn’t matter about me, but he’ll get back at you some way. I wish you’d speak to him next time, square it with him.”
“No, I won’t. He can’t speak falsely of my best—of my friends and expect to keep in with me.”
“But—”