"But we do get so interested in outside things that we forget the real; that's true. Brockhurst says we ought to bring the college back to the campus, and the more I think of it the more I see what he means. The best weeks, the biggest in my life, are those when I've realized I had an imagination and could use it." Suddenly he halted, gave a quick glance at her, and said: "Here I'm talking like a runaway horse. I got started." "Thank you for talking to me so," she said eagerly. He had never seen in her eyes so much of genuine impulse toward him, and, suddenly recalled, in this moment of exhilaration, to the personal self, he was thrilled with a strange thrill at what he saw. "You remember," he said, with a certain new boldness, "how impudent you used to be to me, and how furious I was when you told me I was not awake." "I remember." "Now I understand what you meant," he said, "but then I didn't." She rose to order tea, and then turned impulsively, smiling up to him. "I think--I'm sure I felt it would come to you; only I was a little impatient." And with a happy look she offered him her hand. "I'm very glad to be your friend," she said, to make amends; "and I hope you'll come and talk over with me all that you are thinking. Will you?" He did not answer. At the touch of her hand, which he held in his, at the new sound in her voice, suddenly something surged up in him, something blinding, intoxicating, that left him hot and cold, rash and silent. She tried to release her hand, but his grip was not to be denied. Then, seeing him standing head down boyishly unable to speak or act, she understood. "Oh, please!" she said, with a sudden weakness, again trying to release her fingers. "I can't help it," he said, blurting out the words. "Jean, you know as well as I what it is. I love you." The moment the words were out, he had a cold horror of what had been said. He didn't love her, not as he had said it. Why had he said it? She remained motionless a moment, gathering her strength against the shock. "Please let go my hand," she said quietly. This time he obeyed. His mind was a vacuum; every little sound came to him distinctly, with the terror of the blunder he had made. She went to the window and stood, her face half turned from him, trying to think; and, misreading her thoughts, a little warm blood came back to him, and he tried to think what he would say if she came back with a light in her eyes. "Mr. Stover." He looked up abruptly--he had scarcely moved. She was before him, her large eyes seeming larger than ever, her face a little frightened, but serious with the seriousness of the woman looking out.