“Yes,” said Jeff, with a certain dryness.  But as her face looked blankly innocent, he must have decided that she meant nothing offensive.  He relaxed into a broad smile.  “It’s a queer household up there, in the winter.  I wonder what you would think of it.”

“You might describe it to me, and perhaps we shall see.”

“You couldn’t realize it,” said Jeff, with a finality that piqued her.  He reached out for the bottle of apollinaris, with somehow the effect of being in another student’s room, and poured himself a glass.  This would have amused her, nine times out of ten, but the tenth time had come when she chose to resent it.

“I suppose,” she said, “you are all very much excited about Class Day at Cambridge.”

“That sounds like a remark made to open the way to conversation.”  Jeff went on to burlesque a reply in the same spirit.  “Oh, very much so indeed, Miss Lynde!  We are all looking forward to it so eagerly.  Are you coming?”

She rejected his lead with a slight sigh so skilfully drawn that it deceived him when she said, gravely: 

“I don’t know.  It’s apt to be a very baffling time at the best.  All the men that you like are taken up with their own people, and even the men that you don’t like overvalue themselves, and think they’re doing you a favor if they give you a turn at the Gym or bring you a plate of something.”

“Well, they are, aren’t they?”

“I suppose, yes, that’s what makes me hate it.  One doesn’t like to have such men do one a favor.  And then, Juniors get younger every year!  Even a nice Junior is only a Junior,” she concluded, with a sad fall of her mocking voice.”

“I don’t believe there’s a Senior in Harvard that wouldn’t forsake his family and come to the rescue if your feelings could be known,” said Jeff.  He lifted the bottle at his elbow and found it empty, and this seemed to remind him to rise.

“Don’t make them known, please,” said Bessie.  “I shouldn’t want an ovation.”  She sat, after he had risen, as if she wished to detain him, but when he came up to take leave she had to put her hand in his.  She looked at it there, and so did he; it seemed very little and slim, about one-third the size of his palm, and it seemed to go to nothing in his grasp.  “I should think,” she added, “that the jays would have the best time on Class Day.  I should like to dance at one of their spreads, and do everything they did.  It would be twice the fun, and there would be some nature in it.  I should like to see a jay Class Day.”

“If you’ll come out, I’ll show you one,” said Jeff, without wincing.

“Oh, will you?” she said, taking away her hand.  “That would be delightful.  But what would become of your folks?” She caught a corner of her mouth with her teeth, as if the word had slipped out.

“Do you call them folks?” asked Jeff, quietly: 

“I—­supposed—­Don’t you?”

“Not in Boston.  I do at Lion’s Head.”