making the children!" 

 A sallow boy came in. He cast a sneering look at a limp figure in a gilt chair. Then, without a word, he picked up a book and went out. 

 Jeremiah's eyes were like a child's—the eyes of a frightened child.  "Sometimes," he said in a whisper, "I'm afraid he's ashamed of me!" 

 "No!" exploded Father McGowan, "No!" 

 There is nothing like the scorn of the undetected guilty for those who are exposed. Cecilia was treated to fine scorn, supercilious looks, and, worst of all, a chill overlooking; for she had allowed a boy whom she'd never met to buy her a soda water and a pink sundae! And,—what made the offence doubly revolting?—was the fact that the boy was considered by the girls a man, and that those who had seen him termed him "Ravishing, my dear!"  He,—but let us quote: "Simply Ravishing, my dear, with dark eyes and hair. Honestly, he looked as if he had a secret sorrow, or was on the stage, or was fearfully fast. Something wonderfully interesting about him, you know. Why he would ever look at her, I can't see,——" etc. 

 Cecilia sat in the corner of the shabby-impressive room. She was reading "Sordello" because it was required by the English teacher. Cecilia wasn't a bit interested, and twice the book had slipped shut, and she hadn't known at all where she'd left off, which was annoying; she was afraid she might read one page twice, and she couldn't bear the idea of that. She wondered if this Browning person could have made a success at manufacturing bricks? She judged not. He didn't seem practical, but inwardly she was sure that he could have done anything better than write poetry. She really wondered quite a little bit about him, but after the laughter of the class on her question: "Is Mr. Browning an American or does he come from the Old Country?" she had ceased to voice her speculations. 

 She turned the pages fretfully. There were a great many more. She hoped that Mr. Browning was dead, so that he wouldn't write any more stuff that they would be required to read. Then she berated herself soundly for this unholy wish. 

 Annette Twombly and a girl with tawny hair and green eyes came in. When they saw Cecilia they raised their eyebrows. 

 "There seems to be no privacy in this place!" said Annette. Cecilia turned a page. 

 "And what is worse, my dear," answered the green-eyed, "one is constantly called upon to meet persons socially 

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