"Now, that's better," said Miss Hollingsworth. "No, I don't. This is what I mean."
And then she went on to explain. Hart found that he had lost all his embarrassment, and to his strange surprise an unusual enjoyment came to him. The girls he had met at Oakland had never talked to him like this. There was an excitement about it.
Miss Hollingsworth was finding a great deal out about her new acquaintance. She had been given by nature the strange gift of being able to draw out the best from people,—to make them interested and interesting.
Hart was telling something of the life in a new town, of the emigrant farmers, their ignorance and suffering. From that he had come to speak of his early youth.
He had grown away from any awkwardness and no man ever forgets a conversation of this kind, or a woman who has once eased the awkwardness of new surroundings.
Suddenly the talk was interrupted by the tall senior who had first spoken of the two freshmen, claiming the dance.
"I hope we shall meet again, Mr. Hart,"
