Now, although he still retained his invincible determination to keep his faith from women, he had during certain pleasant episodes of the last vacation condescended to listen politely to the not disagreeable adoration of a score of hero-worshiping young ladies still languishing in boarding-schools. He had learned the trick of such conversations, exchanged photographs with the laudable intention of making his rooms more like an art gallery than ever, and carried off as mementos such articles as fans, handkerchiefs, flowers, etc. But, somehow, the stock phrases were out of place here. He tried one or two openings, and then relapsed, watching her as she took up the conversation easily and ran on. Ever since their first meeting the charming silhouette of the young girl had been in his mind. He watched her as she rose once or twice to cross the room, and her movements had the same gentle rhythm that mystified him in her voice. Yet he was conscious of a certain antagonism. His vanity, perhaps, was a little stirred. She was not flattered in the least by his attentions, which in itself was an incredible thing. There was about her not the slightest suggestion of coquetry--in fact, not more than a polite uninterested attitude toward a guest. And, perceiving this all at once, a desire came to him to force from her some recognition. "You are very much like Bob," he said abruptly, "you are very hard to know." "Really?" "I really want to know your brother, but I can't. I don't think he likes me," he said. "I don't think Bob knows you," she said carefully, raising her eyes in a little surprise. "You're right; we both take a long time to make up our minds." "Then what I said is true?" he persisted. She looked at him a moment, as if wondering how frank she might be, and said after a little deliberation: "I think he's in a little doubt about you." "In doubt," said the prospective captain of a Yale eleven, vastly amazed. "How?" "You will succeed; I am sure of that." "Well, what then?" he said, wondering what other standard could be applied. "I wonder how _real_ you will be in your success," she said, looking at him steadily. "You think I am calculating and cold about it," he said, insisting. She nodded her head, and then corrected herself. "I think you are in danger of it--being entirely absorbed in yourself--not much to give to others--that's what I mean." "By George," said Dink, open-mouthed, "you are the strangest person I ever met in my life!" She colored a little at this, and said hastily: "I beg your pardon; I didn't realize what I was saying." "You may be right, too." He rose and walked a little, thinking it over. He stopped suddenly and turned to her. "Why do you think I'm not 'real'?" "I don't believe you have begun to think yet." "Why not?" "Because--well, because you are too popular, too successful. It's all come too easily. You've had nothing to test you. There's nothing so much alike as the successful men here."