He went plunging along, through the dark regions that lay between the spotted arc lights that began to sputter along the avenue, his ears deafened by the rush and grind of blazing trolley cars. When he had gone breathlessly a good two miles, he stopped and wearily retraced his steps. The return no longer gave him the sensation of flight. He came back laggingly, with reluctance. Each time he thought of the scene which had passed he had a sensation of heat and cold, of anger and of cowardice. Never again he said to himself, would he be able to enter the Storys' home, to face her, Jean Story. But after a time, from sheer exhaustion, he ceased to think about his all-important self. He remembered the dignity and gentleness with which the young girl had met the shock of his blunder, and he was overwhelmed with wonder. He saw again her large eyes, filled with pain, trouble, and yet a certain pity. He recalled her quiet voice, the direct meeting of the issue, and deep through all impressions was the memory of the woman, sweet, self-possessed, and gentle, that had been evoked from her eyes. He forgot himself. He forgot all the wretchedness and hot misery. He remembered only this Jean Story, and the Jean Story that would be. And feeling the revealing acuteness of love for the first time, he said impulsively: "Oh, yes, I love her. I have always loved her!" And silently, deep in his heart, a little frightened almost to set the thought to words, he made a vow that his life from now on should be earnest and inspired with but one purpose, to win her respect and to win the right to ask her for his wife. With the resolve, all the fret and fever went from him. He felt a new confidence and a new maturity. "When I speak again, I shall have the right," he said solemnly. "And she shall see that I am not a mere boy. That I will show her soon!" When he came again into the domain of the college, he suddenly felt all the littleness of the ambitions that raged inside those self-sufficient walls. "Lord, what have I been doing all this time--what does it count for? Brocky is right; it isn't what you do here, it's what you are ready to do when you go out. Thank Heaven, I can see it now." And secure in the knowledge that the honors he rated so lightly were his, he added: "There's only one thing that counts--that's your own self." It was after the dinner hour, and he hesitated; a little tired of his own company, longing for the diversion another personality would bring, and seeking some one as far removed from his own point of view as possible, he halted before Durfee, and sent his call to the top stories: "Oh, Ricky Ricketts, stick out your head." Above a window went up, and a fuzzy head came curiously forth. "Wot'ell, Bill?" "It's Stover, Dink Stover. Come down." "Somethin' doin'?" "You bet." Presently, Ricketts's bean-stalk figure came flopping out of the entry. "What's up, Dink?"