ng, Miss Golden."

Later, Phil talked to her about his longing to be a great surgeon--in
which he had the tremendous advantage of being almost sincere. He walked
down the hall to her room, and said good-night lingeringly, holding her
hand.

Una went into her room, closed the door, and for full five minutes stood
amazed. "Why!" she gasped, "the little man is trying to make love to
me!"

She laughed over the absurdity of it. Heavens! She had her Ideal. The
Right Man. He would probably be like Walter Babson--though more
dependable. But whatever the nature of the paragon, he would in every
respect be just the opposite of the creature who had been saying
good-night to her.

She sat down, tried to read the paper, tried to put Phil out of her
mind. But he kept returning. She fancied that she could hear his voice
in the hall. She dropped the paper to listen.

"I'm actually interested in him!" she marveled. "Oh, that's ridiculous!"

Sec. 5

Now that Walter had made a man's presence natural to her, Una needed a
man, the excitation of his touch, the solace of his voice. She could not
patiently endure a cloistered vacuousness.

Even while she was vigorously representing to herself that he was
preposterous, she was uneasily aware that Phil was masculine. His
talons were strong; she could feel their clutch on her hands. "He's a
rat. And I do wish he wouldn't--spit!" she shuddered. But under her
scorn was a surge of emotion.... A man, not much of a man, yet a man,
had wanted the contact of her hand, been eager to be with her.
Sensations vast as night or the ocean whirled in her small, white room.
Desire, and curiosity even more, made her restless as a wave.

She caught herself speculating as she plucked at the sleeve of her black
mourning waist: "I wonder would I be more interesting if I had the
orange-and-brown dress I was going to make when mother died?... Oh,
shame!"

Yet she sprang up from the white-enameled rocker, tucked in her
graceless cotton corset-cover, stared at her image in the mirror,
smoothed her neck till the skin reddened.

Sec. 6

Phil talked to her for an hour after their Sunday-noon dinner. She had
been to church; had confessed indeterminate sins to a formless and
unresponsive deity. She felt righteous, and showed it. Phil caught the
cue. He sacrificed all the witty things he was prepared to say about
Mrs. Gray's dumplings; he gazed silently out of the window till she
wondered what he was think