"
They drifted up the stairs and Myra led the way into the little den of
his dreams, where a cosy fire was burning before a big sink-down couch.
A few years later this was to be a great stage for Amory, a cradle for
many an emotional crisis. Now they talked for a moment about bobbing
parties.
"There's always a bunch of shy fellas," he commented, "sitting at the
tail of the bob, sorta lurkin' an' whisperin' an' pushin' each other off.
Then there's always some crazy cross-eyed girl"--he gave a terrifying
imitation--"she's always talkin' _hard_, sorta, to the chaperon."
"You're such a funny boy," puzzled Myra.
"How d'y' mean?" Amory gave immediate attention, on his own ground at
last.
"Oh--always talking about crazy things. Why don't you come ski-ing with
Marylyn and I to-morrow?"
"I don't like girls in the daytime," he said shortly, and then, thinking
this a bit abrupt, he added: "But I like you." He cleared his throat.
"I like you first and second and third."
Myra's eyes became dreamy. What a story this would make to tell Marylyn!
Here on the couch with this _wonderful_-looking boy--the little fire--
the sense that they were alone in the great building--
Myra capitulated.
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