"Have you got money to go to Boston yet?" She held herself very straight. He shook his head. "I have money," she said. The pale eyes clung to her. "My parents give me an allowance, and I could get jobs wherever we were. I just want to ride with you. I wouldn't even talk unless you wanted me to." She had to be with him. She had to sit and stand beside him, as relaxed and withdrawn as he was. She had to freeze people with her words and with her unrespondingness. She had to make an end of stupidness. He took a deposit clip from a pocket. He pointed to a figure. "Match that?" She withdrew her own clip and showed him a figure that exceeded his. "How much allowance?" She told him. He nodded to the car. "Wait there. Take me five minutes to pack." * * * * * Dreadingly, joyously, she folded into the car. She watched as he lanked up the steps. She settled back, holding her shoulders rigid and her head straight. She would sit and stand by him. She would chill people with her reserve. She would be very solid and very adult. But minutes later she looked at her wrist and saw that he had been more than five minutes. She wished he wouldn't take so long. When he came down the steps two at a time, she tried not to remember that she hated people who came down steps two at a time. She didn't like the way his hair flopped against his forehead either. And she almost got out of the car when she saw his trousersuit was much too short. It made him look off-balance. He got into the car. "Don't touch this." He pointed to the starter button. He scowled. "Or this or this or this." He pointed to the pedals, to the gearshift lever. He reached out and heaved his suitcase into her lap. He said brusquely, "Don't let it bump the door panel." A corner dug into her stomach. And then he turned his head and ignored her. Completely. And she forgot the steps, the hair and the trousersuit and knew she would not get out of the car so long as he was in it. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pollony Undiverted, by Sydney Van Scyoc