“No, thank you, Mr. Hubbard.  I tell you I can’t go.”

He stared at the finality of her manner.  He had no means of knowing that he was being measured up, to his infinite disadvantage, with a blue eyed lad who had stirred something in the girl before him that he himself could never have roused in a thousand years.  But he did know he was being snubbed and the knowledge disturbed his fond conceit of self.

“Highty tighty with your ‘Mr. Hubbards’!  You will sing another tune by to-morrow night.  I’ll wait at the sycamore and you’ll be there.  See if you won’t.  You’re no fool, Maidie.  You want a good time and you know I’m the boy to give it to you.  So long!  See you to-morrow night.”  He started his motor, kissed his hand impudently to her and was off down the road, leaving Madeline to follow slowly, in his dust.

CHAPTER VI

A SHADOW ON THE PATH

Across the campus the ivy procession wound its lovely length, flanked by rainbow clad Junior ushers immensely conscious of themselves and their importance as they bore the looped laurel chains between which walked the even more important Seniors, all in white and each bearing an American Beauty rose before her proudly, like a wand of youth.

At the head of the procession, as president of the class, walked Antoinette Holiday, a little lady of quality, as none who saw her could have helped recognizing.  Her uncle, watching the procession from the steps of a campus house, smiled and sighed as he beheld her.  She was so young, so blithe-hearted, so untouched by the sad and sordid things of life.  If only he could keep her so for a little, preserve the shining splendor of her shield of innocent young joy.  But, even as he thought, he knew the folly of his wish.  Tony would be the last to desire to have life tempered or kept from her.  She would want to drain the whole cup, bitter, sweet and all.

Farther back in the procession was Carlotta, looking as heavenly fair and ethereal as if she had that morning been wafted down from the skies.  Out of the crowd Phil Lambert’s eyes met hers and smiled.  Very sensibly and modernly these two had decided to remain the best of friends since fate prevented their being lovers.  But Phil’s eyes were rather more than friendly, resting on Carlotta, and, underneath the diaphanous, exquisite white cloud of a gown that she wore, Carlotta’s heart beat a little faster for what she saw in his face.  The hand that held her rose trembled ever so slightly as she smiled bravely back at him.  She could not forget those “very different” kisses of his, nor, with all the will in the world, could she go back to where she was before she went up the mountain and came down again in the purple dusk.  She knew she had to get used to a strange, new world, a world without Philip Lambert, a rather empty world, it seemed.  She wondered if this new world would give her anything so wonderful and sweet as this thing that she had by her own act surrendered.  Almost she thought not.