thought. She even coaxed him to pose in
his track clothes for the life class on Saturday morning, telling
him that he had "a magnificent physique," a compliment which
covered him with confusion. But he posed, of course.

Claude looked forward to seeing Peachy Millmore, missed her if
she were not in the alcove, found it quite natural that she
should explain her absences to him,--tell him how often she
washed her hair and how long it was when she uncoiled it.

One Friday in February Julius Erlich overtook Claude on the
campus and proposed that they should try the skating tomorrow.

"Yes, I'm going out," Claude replied. "I've promised to teach
Miss Millmore to skate. Won't you come along and help me?"

Julius laughed indulgently. "Oh, no! Some other time. I don't
want to break in on that."

"Nonsense! You could teach her better than I."

"Oh, I haven't the courage!"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't. Why do you always laugh about that girl, anyhow?"

Julius made a little grimace. "She wrote some awfully slushy
letters to Phil Bowen, and he read them aloud at the frat house
one night."

"Didn't you slap him?" Claude demanded, turning red.

"Well, I would have thought I would," said Julius smiling, "but I
didn't. They were too silly to make a fuss about. I've been wary
of the Georgia peach ever since. If you touched that sort of
peach ever so lightly, it might remain in your hand."

"I don't think so," replied Claude haughtily. "She's only
kind-hearted."

"Perhaps you're right. But I'm terribly afraid of girls who are
too kindhearted," Julius confessed. He had wanted to drop Claude
a word of warning for some time.

Claude kept his engagement with Miss Millmore. He took her out to
the skating pond several times, indeed, though in the beginning
he told her he feared her ankles were too weak. Their last
excursion was made by moonlight, and after that evening Claude
avoided Miss Millmore when he could do so without being rude. She
was attractive to him no more. It was her way to subdue by
clinging contact. One could scarcely call it design; it was a
degree less subtle than that. She had already thus subdued a pale
cousin in Atlanta, and it was on this account that she had been
sent North. She had, Claude angrily admitted, no reserve,--though
when one first met her she seemed to have so much. Her eager
susceptibility presented not the slightest temptation to him. He
was a boy with