Alice told her. "You see how it—how it made me look, mama," she quavered, having concluded her narrative. "I'd tried to cover up Walter's awfulness at the dance with that story about his being 'literary,' but no story was big enough to cover this up—and oh! it must make him think I tell stories about other things!"
"No, no, no!" Mrs. Adams protested. "Don't you see? At the worst, all he could think is that Walter told stories to you about why he likes to be with such dreadful people, and you believed them. That's all he'd think; don't you see?"
Alice's wet eyes began to show a little hopefulness. "You honestly think it might be that way, mama?"
"Why, from what you've told me he said, I know it's that way. Didn't he say he wanted to come again?"
"N-no," Alice said, uncertainly. "But I think he will. At least I begin to think so now. He———"
She stopped.
"From all you tell me, he seems to be a very desirable young man," Mrs. Adams said, primly.
Her daughter was silent for several moments; then new tears gathered upon her downcast lashes. "He's just—dear!" she faltered.
