utlet, of a confidant, became imperative, and I sought out Tom
Peters. It was in February; I remember because I had ventured--with
incredible daring--to send Nancy an elaborate, rosy Valentine; written
on the back of it in a handwriting all too thinly disguised was the
following verse, the triumphant result of much hard thinking in school
hours:--

Should you of this the sender guess
Without another sign,
Would you repent, and rest content
To be his Valentine

I grew hot and cold by turns when I thought of its possible effects on
my chances.

One of those useless, slushy afternoons, I took Tom for a walk that led
us, as dusk came on, past Nancy's house. Only by painful degrees did
I succeed in overcoming my bashfulness; but Tom, when at last I had
blurted out the secret, was most sympathetic, although the ailment from
which I suffered was as yet outside of the realm of his experience.
I have used the word "ailment" advisedly, since he evidently put my
trouble in the same category with diphtheria or scarlet fever, remarking
that it was "darned hard luck." In vain I sought to explain that I did
not regard it as such in the least; there was suffering, I admitted, but
a degree of bliss none could comprehend who had not felt it. He refused
to be envious, or at least to betray envy; yet he was curious, asking
many questions, and I had reason to think before we parted that his
admiration for me was increased. Was it possible that he, too, didn't
love Nancy? No, it was funny, but he didn't. He failed to see much in
girls: his tone remained commiserating, yet he began to take an interest
in the progress of my suit.

For a time I had no progress to report. Out of consideration for those
members of our weekly dancing class whose parents were Episcopalians the
meetings were discontinued during Lent, and to call would have demanded
a courage not in me; I should have become an object of ridicule among
my friends and I would have died rather than face Nancy's mother and the
members of her household. I set about making ingenious plans with a view
to encounters that might appear casual. Nancy's school was dismissed at
two, so was mine. By walking fast I could reach Salisbury Street, near
St. Mary's Seminary for Young Ladies, in time to catch her, but even
then for many days I was doomed to disappointment. She was either in
company with other girls, or else she had taken another route; this
I