Chewing up the Low-Gear
owing. "You might misjudge me—yes, you'd be sure to misjudge me. But what was the good of my staying on here, and being utterly wretched?"
I felt awfully sorry for him, because his voice was so sincere and trembling, and I could see he meant me.
"I suppose it is hard to be an outcast," I said sympathetically. "Once, at boarding school, I was sent to Coventry for a week because they thought I had caricatured Miss Drayton on the blackboard, while it was really that little sneak, Jessie Tillman, who was afraid to own up; and it nearly killed me."
"Oh, it's not that!" he cried, waving away the suggestion with his hand. "These people are no more to me than so many ants. What hurts me is that I'm prevented from knowing you."
"You seem to have broken through the net, though," I remarked, smiling.
"No, I haven't," he said savagely. "This is just a lucky accident—an accident that may
43
