“Why, yes,” said Ramsey, mildly.  “That’s what we did.”

She uttered an exclamation, a sound of grief and of suspicion confirmed.  “Ah!  I was afraid so!”

“‘Afraid so’?  What’s the matter?” he asked, and because she seemed excited and troubled, he found himself not quite so embarrassed as he had been at first; for some reason her agitation made him feel easier.  “What was wrong about that?”

“Oh, it’s all so shocking and wicked and mistaken!” she cried.  “Even the faculty has been doing it, and half the other ‘frats’ and sororities!  And it was yours that started it.”

“Yes, we did,” he said, throughly puzzled.  “We’re the oldest ‘frat’ here, and of course”—­he chuckled modestly—­“of course we think we’re the best.  Do you mean you believe we ought to’ve sat back and let somebody else start it?”

“Oh, no!” she answered, vehemently.  “Nobody ought to have started it!  That’s the trouble; don’t you see?  If nobody had started it none of it might have happened.  The rest mightn’t have caught it.  It mightn’t have got into their heads.  A war thought is the most contagious thought in the world; but if it can be kept from starting, it can be kept from being contagious.  It’s just when people have got into an emotional state, or a state of smouldering rage, that everybody ought to be so terribly careful not to think war thoughts or make war speeches—­or send war telegrams!  I thought—­oh, I was so sure I’d convinced Mr. Colburn of all this, the last time we talked of it!  He seemed to understand, and I was sure he agreed with me.”  She bit her lip.  “He was only pretending—­I see that now!”

“I guess he must ‘a’ been,” said Ramsey, with admirable simplicity.  “He didn’t talk about anything like that last night.  He was as much for it as anybody.”

“I’ve no doubt!”

Ramsey made bold to look at her out of the side of his eye, and as she was gazing tensely forward he continued his observation for some time.  She was obviously controlling agitation, almost controlling tears, which seemed to threaten her very wide-open eyes; for those now fully grown and noticeable eyewinkers of hers were subject to fluctuations indicating such a threat.  She looked “hurt,” and Ramsey was touched; there was something human about her, then, after all.  And if he had put his feeling into words at the moment, he would have said that he guessed maybe he could stand this ole girl, for a few minutes sometimes, better than he’d always thought he could.

“Well,” he said, “Colburn prob’ly wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings or anything.  Colburn—­”

“He?  He didn’t!  I haven’t the faintest personal interest in what he did.”

“Oh!” said Ramsey.  “Well, excuse me; I thought prob’ly you were sore because he’d jollied you about this pacifist stuff, and then—­”

“No!” she said, sharply.  “I’m not thinking of his having agreed with me and fooling me about it.  He just wanted to make a pleasant impression on a girl, and said anything he thought would please her.  I don’t care whether he does things like that or not.  What I care about is that the principle didn’t reach him and that he mocked it!  I don’t care about a petty treachery to me, personally, but I—­”