I watched Terry with special interest, knowing how he had
longed for this time, and how irresistible he had always been at
home. And I could see, just in snatches, of course, how his suave
and masterful approach seemed to irritate them; his too-intimate
glances were vaguely resented, his compliments puzzled and annoyed.
Sometimes a girl would flush, not with drooped eyelids and inviting
timidity, but with anger and a quick lift of the head. Girl after
girl turned on her heel and left him, till he had but a small ring of
questioners, and they, visibly, were the least "girlish" of the lot.
I saw him looking pleased at first, as if he thought he was
making a strong impression; but, finally, casting a look at Jeff,
or me, he seemed less pleased--and less.
As for me, I was most agreeably surprised. At home I never
was "popular." I had my girl friends, good ones, but they were
friends--nothing else. Also they were of somewhat the same
clan, not popular in the sense of swarming admirers.
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