"Oh," murmured Bessie noncommittally, though she shivered for a moment as if a gust of wind had come again. Hampstead, feeling this, drew her still closer and hunched his broad shoulder to shelter her more, as he explained further: "But it was I, you know, and there was nothing for me to do but to fly. I was for jumping out the window. And then you suddenly made that wonderful speech about going to the circus with dear old John, and your mother let it out that you wanted me to run around with you here, and I saw that toward me you were the same old Bessie; that for a few days we could be once more just friendly, only two finer friends, because we’re both grown up now." "Yes," Bessie sighed, almost contentedly. "I did want you, John. A girl gets tired of society, of clubs and dances and things, even in High. You know, I get weary of the sight of these slim, pompadoured boys sometimes. I just wanted somehow to feel the arm of a real man, to hear him talk, even if he does nothing but talk about himself, and until this minute in three days has not confessed that I have dimples, and—and a heart." "Slow, about some things, am I not?" confessed John. "Awfully, awfully slow!" "I will agree with you," said Bessie, with a mournfulness that literally compelled him to perceive that she was some way disappointed in him. "But," he inquired reproachfully, "aside from my usefulness as a social escort and a sort of masculine tonic, you do admire me a little, don’t you?" "Oh, yes," she answered frankly. "I admire you a lot." "But you’re disappointed about something?" "Apprehension is the better word," she confessed soberly. "Apprehension? Of what?" John was looking at her almost accusingly. Bessie avoided his glance. She could not tell him what she feared nor why she feared it. "You think I’ll fail?" John demanded. "No," disclaimed Bessie seriously. "I think you will succeed!" "You think so?" and Hampstead’s face lighted brilliantly. "Oh, God bless you for that!" and again he shook her, this time tenderly and drew her closer till her breast was touching his, and she leaned her head far back to look up into his face. "Yes," she breathed softly, "I think so!" "And you do not think me silly for turning my back upon solid realities to follow my ideal?" "No! No!" and she shook her head emphatically, "I honor you for it, John. You have inspired me, John, and thrilled me. I used to think—how good you are! Now I think—how noble you are! You have made my feeling for you one of worshipfulness almost." The look in her face did express that, and Hampstead noticed it now. "Ah," he murmured, pressing her arms against her sides, "you dear, impressionable little girl!"