"If," George asked himself defiantly as he walked home, "Squibs thinks my ambition unworthy, why does he go out of his way to boost it? Anyway, I'm going to do my best to make touchdowns for him and Mrs. Squibs. Is that Princeton spirit, or Bailly spirit, or am I fooling myself, and am I going to make touchdowns just for myself and Sylvia Planter?" VII The meeting he had desired above all things to avoid took place when he was, for a moment, off his guard. He was on his way to Dickinson Hall for his first examination. Perhaps that was why he was too absorbed to notice the automobile drawn up at the curb just ahead, and facing him. He had no warning. He nearly collided with Lambert Planter, who walked out of a shop. George stopped, drew back, and thought of dodging behind the procession of worried, sombrely clothed Freshmen; but there wasn't time. Lambert's face showed bewilderment and recognition. "Certainly it is Mr. Morton," he said in his old mocking fashion. George glanced at the surprised features which, in a masculine fashion, were reminiscent of Sylvia; and beyond he saw, in the rear seat of the automobile, Sylvia herself, lovelier, more removed than ever. Betty Alston sat at her side. Evidently neither had observed the encounter, for they laughed and chatted, probably about the terror-stricken Freshmen. George swallowed hard. "I heard you were going to be here. I wanted to keep out of your way." "But why?" Lambert laughed. "You have a scholastic appearance. You never mean----" "I am taking my entrance examinations," George said. "I want to make good here." He looked straight into Lambert's eyes. His voice became incisive, threatening. "I will make good. Don't try giving me away. Don't you tell Miss Alston where I came from----" "Yeh. The big fellow! Morton! Stringham and Green say he's going to be a wonder." It drifted to them from the passing youths. Lambert whistled. The mockery left his voice. "Go as far as you can," he said. And followed it with: "Don't be a self-conscious ass." He smiled whimsically. "Glad to have run into you--George." The driver had noticed Lambert. The automobile glided nearer. "I--I've got to get away," George said, hastily. "I don't want your sister to see me." Lambert turned. His voice, in turn, was a trifle threatening. "That's all nonsense. She's forgotten all about you; she wouldn't know you from Adam." George couldn't help staring. What a contrast the two young women offered! He wanted to realize that he actually looked at Sylvia Planter, Sylvia of the flesh, Sylvia who had expressed for him an endless contempt. But he couldn't help seeing also the golden hair and the soft colouring of Betty Alston.