"I'd like to think you really wanted to come--really cared about seeing
me again. I know I'm not your kind."

He started involuntarily at her voicing unexpectedly his own
recent thought.

"Oh, you needn't be surprised," she threw at him half angrily. "Don't you
suppose I know that better than you do. Don't you suppose I know what the
girls you are used to look like? Well, I do. I've watched 'em, on the
street, on the campus, in church, everywhere. I've even seen your sister
and watched her, too. Somebody pointed her out to me once when she had
made a hit in a play and I've seen her at Glee Club concerts and at
vespers in the choir. She is lovely--lovely the way I'd like to be. It
isn't that she's any prettier. She isn't. It's just that she's
different--acts different--looks different--dresses different from me. I
can't make myself like her and the rest, no matter how I try. And I do
try. You don't know how hard I try. I got this dress because I saw your
sister Tony wearing a pink dress once. I thought maybe it would make me
look more like her. But it doesn't. It makes me look more _not_ like her
than ever, doesn't it?" she appealed rather disconcertingly. "It's
horrid. I hate it."

"I don't know much about girls' dresses," said Ted. "But, now you speak
of it, maybe it would be prettier if it were a little--" he paused for a
word--"quieter," he decided on. "Do you ever wear white? Tony wears it a
lot and I think she looks nice in it."

"I've got a white dress. I thought about putting it on to-day. But
somehow it didn't look quite nice enough. I thought--well, I thought I
looked handsomer in the pink. I wanted to look pretty--for you." The last