Tower glistened in a bright armour of ice. Leigh turned to Finch as they reached the last step.
"I wish you lived in town, Finch," he said. "I'd like to see something of you. But there's always that beastly train to be caught."
"I'm afraid I've missed it to-night. I'll have to take the late one. Ten-thirty."
Leigh looked rather pleased. "That's good news. You'll come home with me to dinner, and we can have a talk. Besides, I'd like my mother and sister to meet you. I've been talking about you to them." He turned his clear, rather feminine gaze eagerly on Finch.
"Sorry. . . . Sorry," muttered the boy.
"What utter nonsense! Of course you can come. Why not?" He slipped his arm persuasively through Finch's.
"Oh, I don't know. At least—well, my clothes aren't right. And besides . . . you know I'm no good with women—ladies. Your mother and sister'd think me an awful dud. I'd have nothing to say, and—and—look like—Cloutie John."
Leigh broke into delighted laughter.
"If only you would! If only you would both look and act like him! They'd throw themselves on your neck and embrace you. Come along, don't be an idiot!" He drew Finch on through the delicate drift of snowflakes, the air on their faces icy, yet somehow crisply caressing. Other young figures were moving quickly through the park, silhouetted against the whiteness.
Finch had, from the first moment of acquaintance, liked and admired Arthur Leigh, been flattered by the attraction he so evidently had for the other, but now he experienced a sudden outrush of warmth toward him which filled him with wonder. He felt that he loved Leigh, wanted to be his near, his closest friend. The pressure of Leigh's slender, small-boned body against his made him feel stronger than he had ever felt before. "Very well," he said, "I'll go."
They boarded a street car and stood together, swaying, hanging by the straps, smiling into each other's
