this morning," she confessed. She had not been Cynthia Gail, then; but he could not know that.
"Of course! And I said some stuffy sort of thing to you, didn't I?"
"I didn't think it—stuffy," Ruth denied, utilizing his word. There were seats where they were; and suddenly it occurred to her, when he glanced at them, that he was remaining standing because she was, and that he would like to sit down, and delay there with her. She gasped a little at this realization; and she seated herself upon a gaily painted bench. He looked about before he sat down.
"Hello; I say, where's Hub?"
Lennon had disappeared; and Ruth knew why. She had forgotten him in the excitement of meeting Gerry Hull; so he had felt himself in the way and had immediately withdrawn. But she could do nothing to mend that matter now; she turned to Gerry Hull, who was on the bench beside her.
He had more quickly banished any concern over his friend's disappearance and was observing Ruth with so frank an interest that, instead of gazing away from her when she looked about at him, his eyes for an instant rested upon hers; his were meditative, almost wistful eyes for that moment. They made her think, suddenly, of the little boy whose picture with his grandfather she used to see in her father's newspaper—an alert, energetic little boy, yet with a look of wonder in his eyes why so much fuss was made about him.
"I seem to've been saying no end of stuffy things since I've been back, Miss Gail; they appeared to be what I was expected to say. But I'm about at the finish of 'em. I'm
