side to side, her white sunbonnet hanging by its strings from her
shoulders. Above the starched ruffles rose her small dark head and white
profile, and Nicholas could see the determined curve of her chin and the
humorous tremor of her nostril. It was a vivid little face, devoid of
colour except for the warm mouth, and sparkling with animation which
burned steadily at the white heat of intensity--but to Nicholas she was
only a plain, dark, little girl, with an unhealthy pallor of complexion.
He was grateful, nevertheless, and when his first regret that she was
not a boy was over he experienced a thrill of affection. It was the
first time that any one had deliberately taken his part in the face of
opposing odds, and the stand seemed to bring him closer to his
companion. He held her books tightly, and his face softened as he looked
at her, until it was transfigured by the warmth of his emotion. Then, as
they passed the college grounds, where a knot of students greeted
Eugenia hilariously, and turned upon the Old Stage Road, he reached out
timidly to take the small hand hanging by her side.

"It's better walkin' on this side the road," he said with a mild
assumption of masculine supremacy. "I wouldn't walk in the dust."

Eugenia looked at him gravely and drew her hand away.

"You mustn't do that," she responded severely. "When I said you weren't
common I didn't mean that you really weren't, you know; because, of
course, you are. I jest meant that I wouldn't let them say so."

Nicholas stood in the centre of the road and stared at her, his face
flushing and a slow rage creeping into his eyes.

For a moment he stood in trembling silence. Then he threw the books from