mself over and leaned towards her.
"Something tells me I'm goin' to have a good time at this house-party,
what?"

Sylvia stiffened. She did not like his sitting so close to her, she
detected now on his breath a faint odor of alcohol, and she was afraid
that Eleanor Hubert would think her lacking in dignity. She regretted
having succumbed to the temptation to answer him in his own tone; but,
under her bravado, she was really somewhat apprehensive about this
expedition, and she welcomed a diversion. Besides, the voluble young
man showed not the slightest sign of noting her attempt to rebuff him,
and she found quite unavailing all her efforts to change the current
of the talk, the loud, free-and-easy, personally admiring note of
which had the effect on her nerves of a draught of raw spirits. She
did not enjoy the taste while it was being administered, but the
effect was certainly stimulating, not to say exciting, and absorbed
her attention so entirely that uncomfortable self-questionings were
impossible. She was also relieved to note that, although the young
man flung himself about in the public conveyance with the same
unceremonious self-assurance that he would have shown in a lady's
drawing-room, Eleanor Hubert, at the other end of the car, was
apparently unaware of his presence. Perhaps she too had some grounds
for uncomfortable thought, for throughout the hour's journey she
continued to stare unseeingly out of the window, or to look down
fixedly and rather sadly at her gloved hands.

Even through the confusion of her own ideas and plans, and the need
for constant verbal self-defense against the encroaching familiarity
of her companion, the notion flitted across Sylvia's mind that
probably Eleanor was thinking of the young assistant in chemistry. How
queer and topsy-turvy everything was, she reflected, as she bandied
lively words with the lively young man at her side, continuing to eat
his candies, although their rich, cloying taste had already palled on
her palate--here was Mrs. Hubert throwing Eleanor at Jerry's head,
when what Eleanor wanted was that queer, rough-neck freak of an
assistant prof; and here were Jerry's parents making such overtures
to Sylvia, when what _she_ wanted--she didn't know what she did want.
Yes, she did, she wanted a good time, which was somehow paradoxically
hard to attain. Something always kept spoiling it,--half the time
something intangible inside her own mind. She gave the candy-box a