But
Ramsey--" Suddenly she broke off and looked at him attentively; his
discomfort had become so obvious that suspicion struck her. She spoke
sharply. "Ramsey _you_ aren't dreaming of doing such a thing, are you?"
"What such a thing?"
"Fred hasn't influenced _you_, has he? You aren't planning to go with
him, are you?"
"Where?"
"To join the Canadian aviation."
"No; I hadn't thought of doing it."
She sighed again, relieved. "I had a queer feeling about you just
then--that you _were_ thinking of doing some such thing. You looked so
odd--and you're always so quiet, anybody might not really know what you
do think. But I'm not wrong about you, am I, Ramsey?"
They had come to the foot of the steps that led up to the entrance of
her dormitory, and their walk was at an end. As they stopped and
faced each other, she looked at him earnestly; but he did not meet the
scrutiny, his eyelids fell.
"I'm not wrong, am I, Ramsey?"
"About what?" he murmured, uncomfortably.
"You are my friend, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Then it's all right," she said.
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