"I couldn't help it," he exclaimed. "Who on earth is his clinging vine?
Why, she's got _lavender_ tops on her shoes and--"

"Don't look round!" she warned him sharply. "Don't--"

"Well, what's he doing at a Baptist church? What's he fidgeting at his
handkerchief about? Why can't he walk like people? Does he think it's
obligatory to walk home from church anchored arm-in-arm like Swedes on a
Sunday Out? Who _is_ this cow-eyed fat girl that's got him, anyhow?"

"Hush! Don't look round again, John."

"Never fear!" said her husband, having disobeyed. "They've turned off;
they're crossing over to Bullard Street. Who is it?"

"I think her name's Rust," Mrs. Milholland informed him. "I don't know
what her father does. She's one of the girls in his class at school."

"Well, that's just like a boy; pick out some putty-faced flirt to take
to church!"

"Oh, she's quite pretty--in that way!" said his wife, deprecatingly. "Of
course that's the danger with public schools. It would be pleasanter if
he'd taken a fancy to someone whose family belongs to our own circle."

"'Taken a fancy'!" he echoed, hooting. "Why, he's terrible! He looked
like a red-gilled goldfish that's flopped itself out of the bowl. Why,
he--"