“Oh, I see,” said van Tuiver. “Old friends, then, I presume.”
“Quite,” said Sylvia, and again there was a pause. She was willing to let the two men worry through without help, finding it fascinating to watch them and study them. What a curious contrast they made! She found herself wondering how far van Tuiver would have got in college life if he had had the handicaps of her lover!
Frank was talking about the prospects of the baseball team. He was pleasant and friendly, and of course quite unmoved by the presence of Royalty. He seemed to be wholly unaware of the tension in the air, the restlessness and impatience of the man he was talking to. But Sylvia knew and was thrilled.
It was a moment full of possibilities of drama. She asked some question of Frank, and he answered, casually, “Of course, honey.” He went on, unconcerned and unperceiving; but Sylvia saw the other man wince as if he had been touched by something red hot. He looked at her, but found that she was looking away. She stole a glance at him again, and saw that he was watching his rival with strained attention, his countenance several shades paler in hue.
That was the end of conversation, so far as van Tuiver was concerned. He answered in monosyllables, and his eyes went from Frank to Sylvia like those of a hunted animal in a corner. The girl got a new and sharp realization of his condition. She had gone into this affair as a joke, but now, for a moment, she was frightened. The man was terrible; every minute, as he watched Frank, his brow grew darker, he was like a thundercloud in the room. And this the arbiter of Harvard’s best society!
At last, she took pity on him. It was really preposterous of Frank to go on gossiping about the prospects of a truce with the Princeton “tiger,” and the resumption of football contests. So, smiling cheerfully at him, she remarked, “You’ll be missing the lecture, won’t you?” And Frank, realizing that he was a third party, made his excuses and withdrew.
Van Tuiver barely waited until Frank had closed the door. Then, with a poor effort at nonchalance, he remarked, “You know Mr. Shirley quite intimately.”
“Oh, yes,” said Sylvia.
“You—you like him very much, Miss Castleman?”
“He’s a splendid fellow,” she replied. “He’s one of the men you ought to have been cultivating.”