tion. Why even if I could get a ticket, which I can't, it wouldn't do. You don't understand in the least."
There was something about the way Oliver glanced at my old rusty laced boots that made me say fiercely, "I don't suppose I'm dressed well enough!"
"Oh, it isn't that—not at all," he assured me, and suddenly I felt that it was. "Of course it isn't, though the girls do put on the best things they have. It's simply that no girl ever goes alone to a game."
"Well, then, here's the money," I said in a hard voice.
"Say, Bobbie, I'm awfully sorry. If you only had let me know. If you only—"
"Oh, never mind," I interrupted.
A young man in a grey sweater entered the store. Oliver glanced around at him, then flushed and finally raised his cap. The young man returned the bow generously. If I had been less sensitive I wouldn't have noticed how Oliver stood so as to shield me from the young man's gaze. If I hadn't walked that three blocks and a half with that young god Blanchard, whoever he was, I wouldn't have minded Oliver's half-apologetic bow. Mr. Blanchard hadn't been ashamed of me; he hadn't hidden me; he hadn't flushed when he met his friends. I wanted to get away from Oliver as soon as I could. I wanted to go home.
"Well, I might as well be starting along," I said. "I found my way down here without any trouble, and I guess I'll get home all right."
"Say, Bobbie, I'm more than sorry. I wish I could put you safely on the Hilton train, but I've got
