Phillip walked to the chapel beside Mrs. Kingsford. He was resolved to prove to Betty that he was indifferent to her treatment; that if she thought she could amuse herself with impunity at his expense she was greatly, oh, very greatly, mistaken. Everett piloted them to the front row of the balcony, and when they were seated Phillip found himself between Mrs. Kingsford and Betty. He confined his attentions to the former, indicating the college celebrities as they entered, and telling her of Guy Bassett and how he attended chapel every morning because it gave him just the right length of walk. Mrs. Kingsford shook her head over that, but smiled nevertheless. “But he doesn’t really mean it, you know,” Phillip hastened to explain. “That’s just his way of talking.” Once he found the hymn and proffered the book to Betty. “Thank you,” she said coldly; “I never sing.” During service she sat very straight and still, looking calmly across the warm, cheerful little chapel, while Phillip, leaning back with folded arms, viewed her surreptitiously and found his resentment melting under a glow of feeling that set his heart aleap. When, presently, a little freckled-faced cherub in the choir-loft arose and filled the chapel with wondrous melody, Phillip’s heart not only leaped, but it seemed to swell until it pained him. He leaned toward Betty. “Betty!” he whispered intensely, “Betty, I love you, dear!” She turned from watching the angel-voiced singer and frowned upon him annoyedly. “Please be still,” she said impatiently. Phillip’s heart ceased leaping. It subsided with something that was very much like what Chester would have called a dull thud. He retired hurt and angry and made solemn vows never again to risk rebuff. Afterward they crossed the Yard in a tiny snow-squall to the square and stood for a minute under the shelter before the waiting-room. Betty turned to Phillip with a little flush in each cheek and her eyes asparkle with anger. “I want you to give me back that photograph,” she said in a low voice. Phillip’s own cheeks reddened. “Certainly,” he answered. “I have no wish to keep it. There are too many like it in――in circulation.” Betty glared, almost speechless. “I shall be at home to-morrow afternoon,” she said finally with superb dignity. “If your _studies_ will allow, please bring it then.” Phillip bowed. The car clanged its way up to the waiting-room and they scuttled for it. Phillip politely offered to help Betty up the steps. Betty looked the other way and leaped up them unassisted. Phillip caught a bewildering gleam of white skirts and patent-leather Oxfords. Then he and Everett were left standing bareheaded in the falling flakes. “Subway-to-Park-Street,” shouted the starter hoarsely. Everett dragged Phillip from the path of a trundling car. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go and get some red-hot chocolate. It will warm us up.”