was not the man to resist it. "Sure I'll tell you," he said, "if I can. I don't know much about it, but I'll do my best." He hesitated. "Let's go downstairs, Cecily, don't you want to? Somebody's liable to come in and find us here—not that I care, but it might not look so well for you"
They went down, Cecily with her rough little hand thrust into Jock's trustingly.
"You see, she said, "my mother has funny ideas about—about things. I'm seventeen, but she still treats me like an infant. She wants to keep me innocent and unsophisticated. Why, she even made me wear a pigtail down my back until a year ago, and the only reason she finally let me bob my hair was because she thinks it's kind of little-girl-looking this way! She keeps me with her most of the time, and won't let me associate with girls my own age, and won't let me go away to school, although I've begged and begged. Goodness knows how she happened to let me come to this prom—I 'spose it's because she likes Ronald—Dopey—so well, and he's an old friend of the family. I—I never really had much of a chance to compare myself with other girls until now. And I know I'm different, and I don't want to be—I want to be just like them"
She had flopped into a chair in the living room and sat now looking up at Jock from under swollen eyelids. Her hair was disheveled and her nose was red, and she would have been comical if she had not been so truly touching.
"That's right, inspect me!" she continued earnestly. "Just pick me to pieces and tell me every last thing that's wrong. That's what I want you to do!"
"You won't be offended? No matter what I say?"
"Offended? I should say not! I'll be grateful to
