"Oh, do you think that's wise?" she protested impetuously.
"Why not?" he asked her at once. "They'll be tickled to death. Particularly my Uncle Peter, who helped me come to college. He's a prominent man himself and will appreciate what this means."
Peggy had an intuitive horror of what Uncle Peter would think. She attempted another tack.
"Harold, I asked Professor Stoddard about you. He boarded with us last year and left to take a house in Tate Manor when he got married," she went on gravely. "He said you weren't doing so well in your French. He said you were bright enough, but you apparently didn't take time to study."
"Oh, that's all right," Harold said airily, pleased at Peggy's interest in him. "We had harder French than he teaches in our high school. I've been pretty busy lately. Not much time to study."
"But you mustn't neglect your work," Peggy protested. "An awful lot of Freshmen flunk out in the Spring every year. You wouldn't want that to happen. And what about football? I thought you told me you were going out for the team."
He turned toward her with a start. His mouth half opened in chagrin. "Say," he
