She closed her eyes as if asleep, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. He left his office at 5:39 according to her watch. “I wanted to go to an art-student ball of which he disapproved. He turned me so that he could have a companion in his loneliness. It has come,—and sooner than you expected. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. By this action, Lucy already knew what the answer was. With a gesture which was without any kind of emotional expression, the manager indicated the silent crumpled figure on the floor and gave the room number. Good night! God bless you!" Upon this, there was a great shaking of hands, with renewed apologies and protestations of friendship on both sides; after which Mr. Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones. Not the explosive vigour of the north-born, but that which would quietly meet physical hardships and bear them triumphantly.
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