have helped recognizing. Her uncle, watching the procession from the
steps of a campus house, smiled and sighed as he beheld her. She was so
young, so blithe-hearted, so untouched by the sad and sordid things of
life. If only he could keep her so for a little, preserve the shining
splendor of her shield of innocent young joy. But, even as he thought, he
knew the folly of his wish. Tony would be the last to desire to have life
tempered or kept from her. She would want to drain the whole cup, bitter,
sweet and all.

Farther back in the procession was Carlotta, looking as heavenly fair and
ethereal as if she had that morning been wafted down from the skies. Out
of the crowd Phil Lambert's eyes met hers and smiled. Very sensibly and
modernly these two had decided to remain the best of friends since fate
prevented their being lovers. But Phil's eyes were rather more than
friendly, resting on Carlotta, and, underneath the diaphanous, exquisite
white cloud of a gown that she wore, Carlotta's heart beat a little
faster for what she saw in his face. The hand that held her rose trembled
ever so slightly as she smiled bravely back at him. She could not forget
those "very different" kisses of his, nor, with all the will in the
world, could she go back to where she was before she went up the mountain
and came down again in the purple dusk. She knew she had to get used to a
strange, new world, a world without Philip Lambert, a rather empty world,
it seemed. She wondered if this new world would give her anything so
wonderful and sweet as this thing that she had by her own act
surrendered. Almost she thought not.

Ted, standing beside his uncle, watching the procession, suddenly heard a
familiar whistle, a signal dating back to Holiday Hill days, as
unmistakable as the Star Spangled Banner itself, though who should be
using it here and why was a mystery. In a moment his roving gaze