d to let them pass. The sophomore exclaimed in a tone of
regret, "Don't be in such a hurry, girls." Vandover became scarlet and
turned his face away, but the girls looked back and laughed
good-naturedly. "Come on," said the sophomore. The group closed around
the girls and brought them to a standstill; they were not in the least
embarrassed at this, but laughed more than ever. Neither of them was
pretty, but there was a certain attraction about them that pleased
Vandover immensely. He was very excited.

Then there was a very embarrassing pause. No one knew what to say. Geary
alone regained his assurance at length, and began a lively interchange
of chaff with one of them. The others could only stand about and smile.

"Well," cried the other girl after a while, "I ain't going to stand here
in the snow all _night_. Let's take a walk; come along. I choose _you_."
Before Vandover knew it she had taken his arm. The sophomore managed in
some way to pair off with the other girl; Haight had already left the
group; the two couples started off, while Geary and the other sophomore
who were left out followed awkwardly in the rear for a little way and
then disappeared.

Vandover was so excited that he could scarcely speak. This was a new
experience. At first it attracted him, but the hopeless vulgarity of the
girl at his side, her tawdry clothes, her sordid, petty talk, her slang,
her miserable profanity, soon began to revolt him. He felt that he could
not keep his self-respect while such a girl hung upon his arm.

"Say," said the girl at length, "didn't I see you in town the other
afternoon on Washington Street?"

"Maybe you did," answered Vandover, trying to be polite. "I'm down there
pretty often."

"Well, I guess yes," she answered. "You Harvard sports make a regular
promenade out o' Washington Street Saturday afternoons. I suppose I've
seen you down there pretty often, but didn't notice. Do you stand or
walk?"

Vandover's gorge rose with disgust. He stopped abruptly and pulled away
from the girl. Not only did she disgust him, but he felt sorry for her;
he felt ashamed and pitiful for a woman who had fallen so low. Still he
tried to be polite to her; he did not know how to be rude with any kind
of woman.

"You'll have to excuse me," he said, taking off his hat. "I don't
believe I can take a walk with you to-night. I--you see--I've got a good
deal of work to do; I think I'll have to leave you." Then he bowed to
her with h