“Aren’t you going to tell me?” asked Betty in apparent surprise. She darted a glance at him and straightway decided not to press the subject. There are more fitting places than a crowded grand stand for hearing certain things. “I’ll――I’ll tell you some day,” answered Phillip softly. “O-oh!” murmured Betty. “I suppose, then, I shall have to wait, shan’t I?” she asked cheerfully. Phillip wished she had exhibited a less philosophic spirit. “Oh, I daresay you don’t care very much what I think,” he said rather aggrievedly. Betty shook her head and for the hundredth time pushed a lock of pale brown hair from her face. “But I do, of course,” she answered gravely. “I like people to think――well of me, and especially Everett’s friends.” “Oh,” said Phillip. Then, with elaborate carelessness, “I suppose he has lots of friends, hasn’t he?” “M-m, yes, a good many, I guess.” “And――er――do they all――that is――――” “Like me?” asked Betty without embarrassment. “I don’t know, I’m sure. And――and I don’t care whether some do, after all. I guess it’s only the ones I like that――I like to have like me.” She laughed merrily. “Can you understand all that rigmarole?” “You said you cared what I thought,” said Phillip rashly. “Did I?” “Didn’t you?” “I may have. Why?” “Oh――why, because if you care what I think and you only care what people that you like think, why――why――――” “Oh, dear,” cried Betty, “that’s worse than Emerson! And you know I don’t care a great deal for Emerson.” “Nor me, I reckon,” muttered Phillip. Betty turned a look of surprise upon him. “But I’ve only known you half an hour!” she objected. “It’s nearly an hour,” corrected Phillip. “Really? It doesn’t seem that long, does it?” “No!” he answered fervently. And was comforted. Yes, dear reader, that is a very fair sample of their discourse; not startlingly interesting to you, or to me, but to Phillip one of the most brilliant, absorbing conversations ever held since Adam and Eve first exchanged views on the weather. When the game was over and Phillip had piloted Betty down the steps as carefully as though she had been a piece of favrile glass instead of the very healthy and able young lady she was, and when they had paused for a moment to view the tempestuous scene before them, in which a dozen or so of crimson-sleeved players rose and sank in a sea of swaying enthusiasts, Betty turned to him. “Wasn’t it glorious!” she cried. And Phillip, looking straight into her eyes, and having in mind something entirely apart from the victory, answered simply and sincerely: “_Great!_” CHAPTER XI