Michael looked down silently and smiled. He was wondering if any eyes were ever as beautiful as those before him. He had never had even a little girl look at him like that. The president’s daughter was fat and a romp. She never took time to look at the boys. The few other girls he knew, daughters of the professors, were quiet and studious. They paid little attention to the boys. “I want to thank you for what you did,” went on Starr, “only I can’t think of any words great enough to tell you how I feel about it. I wish there was something I could do to show you how I thank you?” She lifted her sweet eyes again to his. They were entering the large Hall of the college now. “This way,” said Michael guiding her toward the chapel door which had just swung to behind the two men. “Isn’t there something you would like that I could do for you?” persisted Starr earnestly, following him into the empty chapel where Mr. Endicott and the president stood looking at a tablet on the wall by the further door. “Your father has done everything for me,” said Michael sunnily, with a characteristic sweep of his hand that seemed to include himself, his garments and his mental outfit. He turned upon her his blazing smile that spoke more eloquently than words could have done. “Yes, but that is papa,” said Starr half impatiently, softly stamping her daintily shod foot. “He did that because of what you did for _him_ in saving my life. I should like to do something to thank you for what you did for _me_. I’m worth something to myself you know. Isn’t there something I could do for you.” She stood still, looking up into his face anxiously, her vivid childish beauty seeming to catch all the brightness of the place and focus it upon him. The two men had passed out of the further door and on to the recitation rooms. The girl and boy were alone for the moment. “You have done something for me, you did a great deal,” he said, his voice almost husky with boyish tenderness. “I think it was the greatest thing that anybody ever did for me.” “I did something for you! When? What?” questioned Starr curiously. “Yes,” he said, “you did a great thing for me. Maybe you don’t remember it, but I do. It was when I was getting well from the shot there at your house, and your nurse used to bring you up to play with me every day; and always before you went away, you used to kiss me. I’ve never forgotten that.” He said it quite simply as if it were a common thing for a boy to say to a girl. His voice was low as though the depths of his soul were stirred. A flood of pretty color came into Starr’s cheeks. “Oh!” she said quite embarrassed at the turn of the conversation, “but that was when I was a baby. I couldn’t do that now. Girls don’t kiss boys you know. It wouldn’t be considered proper.”