On this occasion he came up behind Nancy as she was leaving Sophy’s gate and immediately sounded the alarm.  She leaped in the air, dropped her school-books and whirled on him.

“Tom Peters!  How dare you frighten me so!” she cried.

Tom regarded her in sudden dismay.

“I—­I didn’t mean to,” he said.  “I didn’t think you were so near.”

“But you must have seen me.”

“I wasn’t paying much attention,” he equivocated,—­a remark not calculated to appease her anger.

“Why were you doing it?”

“I was just practising,” said Tom.

“Practising!” exclaimed Nancy, scornfully.  “I shouldn’t think you needed to practise that any more.”

“Oh, I’ve done it louder,” he declared, “Listen!”

She seized his hands, snatching them away from his lips.  At this critical moment I appeared around the corner considerably out of breath, my heart beating like a watchman’s rattle.  I tried to feign nonchalance.

“Hello, Tom,” I said.  “Hello, Nancy.  What’s the matter?”

“It’s Tom—­he frightened me out of my senses.”  Dropping his wrists, she gave me a most disconcerting look; there was in it the suspicion of a smile.  “What are you doing here, Hugh?”

“I heard Tom,” I explained.

“I should think you might have.  Where were you?”

“Over in another street,” I answered, with deliberate vagueness.  Nancy had suddenly become demure.  I did not dare look at her, but I had a most uncomfortable notion that she suspected the plot.  Meanwhile we had begun to walk along, all three of us, Tom, obviously ill at ease and discomfited, lagging a little behind.  Just before we reached the corner I managed to kick him.  His departure was by no means graceful.

“I’ve got to go;” he announced abruptly, and turned down the side street.  We watched his sturdy figure as it receded.

“Well, of all queer boys!” said Nancy, and we walked on again.

“He’s my best friend,” I replied warmly.

“He doesn’t seem to care much for your company,” said Nancy.

“Oh, they have dinner at half past two,” I explained.

“Aren’t you afraid of missing yours, Hugh?” she asked wickedly.

“I’ve got time.  I’d—­I’d rather be with you.”  After making which audacious remark I was seized by a spasm of apprehension.  But nothing happened.  Nancy remained demure.  She didn’t remind me that I had reflected upon Tom.

“That’s nice of you, Hugh.”

“Oh, I’m not saying it because it’s nice,” I faltered.  “I’d rather be with you than—­with anybody.”

This was indeed the acme of daring.  I couldn’t believe I had actually said it.  But again I received no rebuke; instead came a remark that set me palpitating, that I treasured for many weeks to come.

“I got a very nice valentine,” she informed me.

“What was it like?” I asked thickly.