144 I think he heard about the backpack and the spitballs finally. She was very pale, but she reminded him more at that minute than at any time of “Alcide” as he had first known her. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. Daughters were not like sons. Had he been trying to get her attention before that day, or did he simply want his silly pencil returned? \"I'm John. Ruth Enschede, Hartford, Conn.
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