“Of course you wouldn’t. That’s the sort of thing one keeps to oneself.”
Roland adopted in reply the stern tone of admonition, “Of course not; but if I told you, you’d take jolly good care that you did see her, and then you’d tell someone else. You’d point her out and say, ‘That girl wanted me to come out for a walk with her.’ You know you would, and of course the other fellow would promise not to tell anyone and of course he would. It would be round the whole place in a week, and think how the poor girl would feel being laughed at by everyone because a fellow that was four years younger than herself wouldn’t have anything to do with her.”
“You know, Whately,” he began, “I’d rather ...” then broke off. “Oh, look here, do tell me.”
“But why did you tell me anything about it at all?”
“I don’t know; it just cropped up, didn’t it? I thought it might amuse you.”
“Well, I think it’s rotten of you. I shan’t be able to think of anything else until I know.”
Which was, of course, exactly what Roland wanted. He knew how Brewster’s imagination would play with the idea. Betty would become for him strange, wistful, passionate. Four years older than himself he would picture her as the Lilith of old, the eternal temptress. In herself she was nothing. If he had met her in the streets two days earlier he would have hardly noticed her. “A pleasant, country girl,” he would have said, and let her pass out of his thoughts. But now the imagination that colors all things would make her irresistible, and when he met her she would be identified with his dream.
Next morning Brewster ran across to him during break.
“Well, then. Oh, look here! Is it Dorothy Jones?” Dorothy Jones was the daughter of the owner of a cycle shop and was much admired in the school.
“I don’t know. Perhaps. But is it, though?”
“It is Dorothy Jones, isn’t it? It is her?”
“Oh, don’t be a fool! Is it Dorothy Jones?”
“Well, if it isn’t her, is it Mary Gardiner?”
“It is Mary Gardiner,” Roland mocked. “It is she, isn’t it?”
“Oh, you’re awful,” said Brewster, and walked away.
But that evening he came over to the School house studies and, just before Hall, a small boy ran across to the reading-room to tell Roland that Brewster was waiting in the cloisters and would like to speak to him.