"She must know," he thought.
If she did, why did she hide her knowledge behind an unfathomable masquerade?
"That was kind of you," he heard her say. "Poor Dolly!"
She glanced up. Interrogation entered her eyes.
"I can't seem to remember——"
"I came from Princeton with Dick Goodhue," he explained. "It seemed such a simple thing. Shouldn't I have cut in?"
He looked straight at her now. His heart seemed to stop. She had to be made to remember.
"My name is George Morton."
She smiled.
"I've heard Betty talk of you. You're a great football player. It was very kind. Of course it's all right."