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He is exactly my Ideal, strong and tall and passionate. And clever, to. He said some awfuly clever things. I beleive that he saw me. He looked in my direction. But what does it matter? I am small, insignifacant. He probably thinks me a mere child, although seventeen. What matters, oh Dairy, is that I am at last in Love. It is hopeless.
The Nurse went back into the room and found Billy Grant sitting in a chair, with the book he had been reading on the floor and his face buried in his hands. "I'm awfuly sorry!" he said, not looking up. "I heard what he said. He's right, you know." "I'm sorry. And I'm afraid this is a place where I cannot help." She put her hand on his head, and he brought it down and held it between his.
I cried, in scorn and wrechedness. "What is he to me? Or his eye either? I refer to Mr. Egleston. It is time for the curtain to go up now, and unless he has by this time returned, there can be no performence." "Look here," Carter said sudenly, "you look awfuly queer, Bab. Your face " I stamped my foot. "What does my face matter?" I demanded.
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