Missy could have died of mortification.
"Want a lift?" asked Arthur, moving forward.
Missy shook her head. She longed to retrieve herself in the public
gaze, longed to shine as Tess shone, but not for worlds could she
have essayed that high, dizzy seat again. So she shook her head
dumbly and Arthur grinned at her not unkindly. Missy liked Arthur
Simpson. He wore a big blue-denim apron and had red hair and
freckles--not a romantic figure by any means; but there was a
mischievous imp in his eye and a rollicking lilt in his voice that
made you like him, anyway. Missy wished he hadn't been a witness to
her predicament. Not that she felt at all sentimental toward Arthur.
Arthur "went with" Genevieve Hicks, a girl whom Missy privately
deemed frivolous and light-minded. Besides Missy herself was, at
this time, interested in Raymond Bonner, the handsomest boy in "the
crowd." Missy liked good looks--they appealed to the imagination or
something. And she adored everything that appealed to the
imagination: there was, for instance, the picture of Sir Galahad, in
shining armour, which hung on the wall of her room--for a time she
had almost said her prayers to that picture; and there was a
compelling mental image of the gallant Sir Launcelot in "Idylls of
the King" and of the stern, repressed, silently suffering Guy in
"Airy Fairy Lilian.
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