"I accept," said Yvonne promptly. 'What football game is it?"
He told her, and then on second thought invited her to another. He would have included the autumn prom as well had it not been for Molly, whose presence at that noteworthy event he had requested in a moment of aberration weeks ago. Molly was angry tonight, but he reflected mournfully that she would not be angry by the time prom was due. Experience had taught him that girls always chirked up considerably then, like children behaving themselves just before Christmas.
He relinquished Yvonne again, this time at the plaintive behest of Benny Webber. When next he danced with her she said, after a moment, "Where are we going? Not that it matters."
"We're going out," announced Jock, who had steered her in a straight line to the nearest doorway. "I want to talk to you, and I don't want any more interruptions."
He rather expected her to protest. Most girls would have, at least a little, as a coy preliminary to giving in. But this girl did not. She accompanied him through the doorway and into the night without a murmur.
"For another thing," Jock continued, en route, "there's an arc light out here that tells no lies. I want to find out if you can possibly be as beautiful as you seem."
Under the arc light he tilted her chin with his forefinger and scrutinized her gravely and at some length. Heart-shaped face, with the firm little chin for its point and the V into which her hair grew on her forehead to form its dipping upper line. White skin, white as white flower petals, and as soft, and as fragrant. Long wise eyes, slanting. Feathery lashes. A small
