Next day, at school, she must listen to an aftermath of gossipy
surmise anent the disappointing osculatory hero. At last she could
stand it no longer.
"I think it's horrid to talk that way! Anybody can see he's not that
kind of man!"
Raymond Bonner stared.
"Why, I thought you said he was disgusting!"
But Missy, giving him a withering look, turned and walked away,
leaving him to ponder the baffling contrarieties of the feminine
sex.
A new form of listlessness now took hold of Missy. That afternoon
she didn't want to study, didn't want to go over to Kitty Allen's
when her friend telephoned, didn't even want to work on hats; this
last was a curious turn, indeed, and to a wise observer might have
been significant. She had only a desire to be alone, and was
grateful for the excuse her thesis provided her; though it must be
admitted precious little was inscribed, that bright May afternoon,
on the patient tablet which kept Missy company in the summerhouse.
At supper, while the talk pivoted inevitably round the departed
Dobson, she sat immersed in preoccupation so deep as to be
conspicuous even in Missy.
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