"
Miss Blake leaned forward and read the inscription on her
companion's medal. "Oh, isn't it heavy!" feeling it reverently.
"Pure gold, like himself! You should have seen him when he won
it. Why, at the finish of that race all the men but Culver were
making the most horrible faces. They were simply _dead_."
Miss Blake's hands were clasped in her lap. "They all make
faces," said she. "Have you told Roberta about your engagement?"
"No, she doesn't dream of it, and I don't want her to know. I'm
so afraid she'll think, now that mother has gone, that I asked
her here just as a chaperon. Perhaps I'll tell her when Culver
comes."
"I adore athletes. I wouldn't give a cent for a man who wasn't
athletic."
"Does Mr. Speed go in for that sort of thing?"
"Rather! The day we met at the Yale games he had medals all over
him, and that night at the dance he used the most wonderful
athletic language--we could scarcely understand him. Mr.
Covington must have told you all about him; they are chums, you
know."
Miss Chapin furrowed her brows meditatively.
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