apparently unconsciously, was still attached to his coat sleeve with a limpet grip.
The girl was quite near now, and Packy was able to see that the nice little forehead which he had so much admired was puckered. He made another unsuccessful attempt to release himself.
'I really must be...'
'Jane!' cried Blair Eggleston. 'What a time you've been!'
The girl made no reply. Her attention was riveted on Packy.
'You!' she said.
Up in the Senatorial suite, Packy had not been able quite to satisfy himself as to the exact colour of this girl's eyes. They were either black or a very dark blue. He was now in a position to settle the point. They were within a foot or two of his own, and he saw that they were blue – a vivid blue and constructed, as far as he could ascertain, of molten fire.
'You!' she said.
There are practically no good answers to the word 'You!' Packy did not attempt one.
'I don't know who you are, but it may interest you to know that you've probably ruined my whole life.'
Packy begged her not to say that. A foolish request, seeing that she had just said it. He also asked her what she meant.
'I'll tell you what I mean. Blair and I are engaged, and Father doesn't know anything about it yet. I went up there to try to coax him into a good temper before Blair broke the news, and now you've played this fool trick and got him madder than a hornet.'
Blair Eggleston seemed bewildered.
'I don't understand.'
'You will,' said Jane Opal grimly.
Blair Eggleston's was a face which even at normal times had always a certain intellectual pallor. As he listened now, this pallor became more pronounced. It was as if the young novelist had been cast to play the Demon King in a pantomime and had assumed for the purpose a light green make-up. His lower jaw drooped feebly, like a dying lily.
'You don't mean that after that I've got to go and ask your father's consent to our marriage?'
'Yes.'
'But you say he is extremely upset.'
'He was tearing up a sheet when I left,' said Jane.
She turned upon Packy with such whole-hearted ferocity that he jumped back a full foot. A moment before, he had been intending to palliate his rash act by explaining that it had been the outcome of a sudden whim or caprice. Eyeing Jane, he decided not to.
Tearing up a sheet?' said Blair Eggleston in a dry voice.
'Into little bits.'
'I'm awfully sorry' said Packy.
Jane asked him what was the good of being sorry, and for the life of him he could not tell her. He remained silent, pensively rubbing the scorched patch on his cheek where her eyes had rested.
A good deal of talk now followed in which he took no share. His companions were discussing the various points in his character which prevented him achieving ideal perfection, and on such occasions the well-bred man does not chip in. It was principally in order to avoid hearing any more of the girl Jane's penetrating word-portrait that he buried himself presently in thought. And, thinking, he saw that it might be possible to some extent to make amends for the evil he had wrought.
'Listen,' he said, taking advantage of the fact that girls, no matter how gifted as critics, cannot go on for ever without stopping to take breath. 'I may be a dangerous imbecile – I'm not saying I'm not – but if you'll only listen for a minute I think I can help you.'
It is possible that mere words might not have availed, but at this moment the girl Jane, who had been allowing her eyes to play silently over his face while she thought of what to say next, came before the meeting with a question.
'Aren't you Packy Franklyn?'
'Yes.'
'I've been trying to remember ever since I saw you upstairs. You reminded me of someone, and I couldn't think who it was. I saw you score that touchdown against Notre Dame. Boy, that was a run!'
Her voice had lost its rancour. It was plain that she considered the revelation of his identity to have placed an entirely new complexion on the matter. What is lunatic behaviour in the
The girl was quite near now, and Packy was able to see that the nice little forehead which he had so much admired was puckered. He made another unsuccessful attempt to release himself.
'I really must be...'
'Jane!' cried Blair Eggleston. 'What a time you've been!'
The girl made no reply. Her attention was riveted on Packy.
'You!' she said.
Up in the Senatorial suite, Packy had not been able quite to satisfy himself as to the exact colour of this girl's eyes. They were either black or a very dark blue. He was now in a position to settle the point. They were within a foot or two of his own, and he saw that they were blue – a vivid blue and constructed, as far as he could ascertain, of molten fire.
'You!' she said.
There are practically no good answers to the word 'You!' Packy did not attempt one.
'I don't know who you are, but it may interest you to know that you've probably ruined my whole life.'
Packy begged her not to say that. A foolish request, seeing that she had just said it. He also asked her what she meant.
'I'll tell you what I mean. Blair and I are engaged, and Father doesn't know anything about it yet. I went up there to try to coax him into a good temper before Blair broke the news, and now you've played this fool trick and got him madder than a hornet.'
Blair Eggleston seemed bewildered.
'I don't understand.'
'You will,' said Jane Opal grimly.
Blair Eggleston's was a face which even at normal times had always a certain intellectual pallor. As he listened now, this pallor became more pronounced. It was as if the young novelist had been cast to play the Demon King in a pantomime and had assumed for the purpose a light green make-up. His lower jaw drooped feebly, like a dying lily.
'You don't mean that after that I've got to go and ask your father's consent to our marriage?'
'Yes.'
'But you say he is extremely upset.'
'He was tearing up a sheet when I left,' said Jane.
She turned upon Packy with such whole-hearted ferocity that he jumped back a full foot. A moment before, he had been intending to palliate his rash act by explaining that it had been the outcome of a sudden whim or caprice. Eyeing Jane, he decided not to.
Tearing up a sheet?' said Blair Eggleston in a dry voice.
'Into little bits.'
'I'm awfully sorry' said Packy.
Jane asked him what was the good of being sorry, and for the life of him he could not tell her. He remained silent, pensively rubbing the scorched patch on his cheek where her eyes had rested.
A good deal of talk now followed in which he took no share. His companions were discussing the various points in his character which prevented him achieving ideal perfection, and on such occasions the well-bred man does not chip in. It was principally in order to avoid hearing any more of the girl Jane's penetrating word-portrait that he buried himself presently in thought. And, thinking, he saw that it might be possible to some extent to make amends for the evil he had wrought.
'Listen,' he said, taking advantage of the fact that girls, no matter how gifted as critics, cannot go on for ever without stopping to take breath. 'I may be a dangerous imbecile – I'm not saying I'm not – but if you'll only listen for a minute I think I can help you.'
It is possible that mere words might not have availed, but at this moment the girl Jane, who had been allowing her eyes to play silently over his face while she thought of what to say next, came before the meeting with a question.
'Aren't you Packy Franklyn?'
'Yes.'
'I've been trying to remember ever since I saw you upstairs. You reminded me of someone, and I couldn't think who it was. I saw you score that touchdown against Notre Dame. Boy, that was a run!'
Her voice had lost its rancour. It was plain that she considered the revelation of his identity to have placed an entirely new complexion on the matter. What is lunatic behaviour in the
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