was the look of both a mother and a sweetheart in her soft eyes. And there was a suggestion of tears too.
She pitied him. She was terribly anxious to know how he would take Dan's words. She was fearful that the Freshman's sensitive heart and his high spirit were broken.
Harold, still looking at her, tossed his head as if to rid himself of an irksome burden. He forced a smile into his white face. Then he tried to say jauntily, "It doesn't bother me a bit, really, Peggy. A fellow has to expect these things, you know. Every man who has amounted to anything has been misunderstood like this. It's—nothing."
But as he continued to stare at her, his eyes slowly filled with tears. His lips twitched. His body seemed to be crumbling. And suddenly, with a choked sob, he flung himself at Peggy's feet. She sank into a chair, his head in her arms. And she let him sob as if his heart would break, while she gently stroked his tousled black hair—as his mother used to do. For a moment his body was racked and tortured by his tears. Then he shivered, pulled himself together, raised his tearstained face to hers and tried again to smile. At last he succeeded and forced himself to his feet.
The memory of her warm arms around him
