this, even while he strove hotly to combat it. He wanted Yvonne for the prom more than he had ever wanted anything within his memory, but he secretly admitted that he would have been a shade disappointed in her if she had agreed to come at the expense of another girl. As it was, his adoration for her increased by just that much. She was perfect. . . . He had been to New York thrice to see her since that memorable afternoon in her apartment, and each time she became in his eyes more beautiful, more desirable, more beloved. Also, more mysterious, for she continued steadfastly to keep him in ignorance of herself and her life. She would say, "Oh, my dear, you will find out soon enough," and silence his questions with kisses. Love of her, tinged with curiosity, had become an obsession with him. She filled all his waking thoughts and colored all his hours, Prom without her would be cake without flavoring. . . .
Molly's train was due at three in the afternoon. Two o'clock found Jock arraying himself listlessly—a definite contrast to the manner in which he would have arrayed himself had it been Yvonne's train. Dressing to meet Yvonne was an elaborate process, one requiring much thought, much painstaking selection, and ruthless raids upon the wardrobes of his friends. He always set forth for a call on her sartorially representing the fraternity at large . . . in Pink's new suit, Bill's hat, Ken Kennedy's muffler. Somehow one's own clothes, however good, are never quite good enough for the eyes of a girl like Yvonne.
But they do very well for a Molly.
He drew a tie at random out of the bundle of them that drooped from a rack on his chiffonier, and confronted the looking-glass. With the tie around his neck and an end of it grasped ready for action in each
