lived in. Adela was twenty-one and I was nineteen. We sold the house,
moved into rooms; Adela learned shorthand and went into an office. I
wanted to do the same. But mother was adamant. I must finish my college
course and take my degree; she and Adela could manage until I could make
it up to them later. It was hard, but it seemed the only sensible
thing to do--

"I faced the task of working my way through college with a thankful
heart, for though I pretended that I did not care, it would have been a
terrible thing to have given up my life's ambition. The thought of Adela
trudging to the office hurt--it was the touch of the spur. I needn't
tell you, you can guess how I worked! People were kind. One summer, old
Doctor Inglis, whose amiable hobby it was to help young medical
students, engaged me for the holidays as his chauffeur and general
helper at a wage which would see me through my next term. It seemed an
unusual piece of luck, for he lived only twenty miles from my mother's
home and an electric tram connected the towns. One night I went with
Adela to a Church Social--of all places--and that is where the story
really begins, for it was at the Social that I met Molly Weston. It
seemed the most casual of all accidents, for you can imagine that I did
not frequent churches in those days, and Molly, too, had come there by
chance. She was dressed in pink, her cheeks were pink, she wore a pink
rose in her hair. She was the prettiest little fairy that ever smiled
and pouted her way into a boy's heart. Before I left her I was madly in
love--a boy's first headlong passion. Adela was amazed, teased me in her
elderly sister way but never for a moment took it seriously. Molly was a
mere bird of passage, an American girl staying with friends for a brief
time, therefore my infatuation was a humorous thing. But it was not so
simple as that. Molly stayed on, Dr. Inglis was indulgent, we met
continually. If her friends knew of it they did not care. It was just a