to it. Admiration from the fair sex was no new thing to him. And
Missy knew this. Perhaps that was one reason she'd been so modestly
pleased that he had wished to bestow his gallantries upon her. She
realized that Raymond Bonner was much handsomer and richer; and that
Kitty Allen's cousin Jim from Macon City, in his uniform of a
military cadet, was much more distinguished-looking; and that Don
Jones was much more humbly adoring. Arthur had red hair, and lived
in a boarding-house and drove a delivery-wagon, and wasn't the least
bit humble; but he had an audacious grin and upcurling lashes and "a
way with him." So Missy accepted his favour with a certain proud
gratitude.

She felt herself the heroine of a thrilling situation though their
conversation, as Arthur guided her along the icy sidewalks, was of
very ordinary things: the weather--Missy's sore throat (sweet
solicitude from Arthur)--and gossip of the "crowd"--the weather's
probabilities to-morrow--more gossip--the weather again.

The weather was, in fact, in assertive evidence. The wind whipped
chillingly about Missy's shortskirted legs, for they were strolling
slowly--the correct way to walk when one has a "date." Missy's teeth
were chattering and her legs seemed wooden, but she'd have died
rather than suggest running a block to warm up. Anyway, despite
physical discomforts, there was a certain deliciousness in the
situation, even though she found it difficult to turn the talk into
the spiritual trend she had proposed. Finally Arthur himself
mentioned the paper-wad episode, laughing at it as though it were a
sort of joke.

That was her opening.