The girl had noted a similar tendency of late on the part of other men, but had thought of it only in as far as it had impressed upon her the fact that she and Ralph had grown to understand each other rather well and were very good friends.  She had arrived at that age where she had begun to feel that perhaps, after all, this might be what the world called love and that women who attributed to the word emotions deeper, more absorbing, more thrilling, were mere sentimentalists, who derived their plans and ideas from a world of dreams or from fiction both classical and popular; or else they were women of deeper feeling than she knew herself to be.

It was all a problem.  She had reason to feel that a time was approaching when Oddington might reasonably expect a clearer, better-defined relation.  Whether she would be willing to grant this was another matter.  It was possible she might; it was possible she might not.  She did not know.  It was a situation which perplexed if it did not inspire her, which interested if it did not thrill.

And yet now Dan’s tacit aloofness piqued her.  She admitted she did not understand him at all.  Here was a man, a tugboat captain, of course a product of the water front; primarily, no doubt, a dock-rat, and yet a man who had not tangled himself in the use of his forks, who spoke in even, well-modulated tones, and looked like a gentleman.  Miss Howland was not snobbish in these thoughts.  She had never been a snob; she was simply considering facts.  And she did not want him to be aloof.

“Captain Merrithew,” she said in a tone designed to draw him and the others into general conversation, “Ralph—­Mr. Oddington, has been saying things again about my favorite cousin Percy Walton.”

Ignoring the polite chorus of mild expostulation, Miss Howland turned to Dan, speaking with great vivacity.

“Percy, you know, was educated to win football games for Yale, and at the last moment went to Princeton.  But he did not play there, because Uncle Horace, his father, in a fit of disgust, made him go to work.”  She glanced smilingly at Oddington.  “Mr. Oddington and Mr. Wotherspoon say he was proselyted by Princeton.  We’ve had more fights about it—­”

“Well, he was proselyted,” laughed Oddington, “stolen from us bodily.”

“Wasn’t it some time ago?” asked Dan.

“Why, that’s just the point,” said Mrs. Van Vleck.  “It was at least five or six years ago.  I am afraid Ralph and Reggie will never be able to realize they are not undergraduates.”

Oddington smiled.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said.  “At all events, it keeps us young.  As for Walton, I’d be ashamed to own him for a cousin,” winking at Dan.  “Why, Merrithew, all his family had been Yale from great-grandfather down.”

“There; you hear him, Captain Merrithew,” cried Miss Howland; “don’t you think that’s a horrid way to talk?”

Dan smiled, tapping lightly on the table with his fingers.