“Still, he isn’t, you know,” Fred persisted. “It wouldn’t be anything new. I’ve loaned money to students before, and got it back, too.”
“Yes; I know you’re generous,” Thea hurried over it, “but this will be the best way. He will be here on Friday did I tell you?”
“I think you mentioned it. That’s rather soon. May I smoke?” he took out a small cigarette case. “I suppose you’ll be off next week?” he asked as he struck a match.
“Just as soon as I can,” she replied with a restless movement of her arms, as if her dark-blue dress were too tight for her. “It seems as if I’d been here forever.”
“And yet,” the young man mused, “we got in only four days ago. Facts really don’t count for much, do they? It’s all in the way people feel: even in little things.”
Thea winced, but she did not answer him. She put the telegram back in its envelope and placed it carefully in one of the pigeonholes of the desk.
“I suppose,” Fred brought out with effort, “that your friend is in your confidence?”
“He always has been. I shall have to tell him about myself. I wish I could without dragging you in.”
Fred shook himself. “Don’t bother about where you drag me, please,” he put in, flushing. “I don’t give—” he subsided suddenly.
“I’m afraid,” Thea went on gravely, “that he won’t understand. He’ll be hard on you.”