Free Rose Galbraith by Grace Livingston Hill Page A

often, especially at night when he was alone in his room. He wondered a great deal about her. How was it that he had not known her well, at least as well as he knew the rest of his schoolmates? He had a strong feeling that she was more worthwhile than any of the others.
    He had always known that scholastically she was above the rest. She was more of a scholar, or else she was a patient plodder. He had never troubled to find out which. But now, strangely enough, those few minutes he had spent with her on shipboard had made him feel that she not only had a superior intellect but that she had character, and that she was sweet and original.
    Not that he deliberately set to work to analyze these thoughts at first. They came gradually to him like a pleasant revelation, and it was then he wondered at himself that he had not somehow discovered this before. Why had he never noticed her before?
    What had there been about her on shipboard that was different?
    For one thing, she seemed prettier. He had never thought of her as being pretty or stylish. But now she seemed very lovely, garbed quite as other girls of her age.
    Then suddenly he remembered that he had noticed once before how pretty she was. That had been at commencement. She had been wearing white, like all the others, but something filmy and soft, and her young face had shone out from among the others like a star. He remembered looking at her several times that night and wondering about it. And then, of course, had come vacation days, and he hadn’t seen her anymore till he found her on that boat, with blue eyes like the blue garments she was wearing.
    He scoffed at himself for thinking such thoughts. When had he ever noticed clothes, or taken account of them as a measure by which to judge a girl? Probably, though, clothes did count for something in the general appearance of a person, and not everybody could afford lovely garments. As he remembered the Rose Galbraith of school days, she had always been extremely clean and neat and tidy and almost tailored, if one could use that description for garments that sometimes were quite faded, worn almost shiny. Poor little girl! She had probably come from a plain home where money was scarce. And now her mother was gone, and her father too perhaps, because she had said she was alone.
    And when he thought about it, he was glad he had kissed her. The touch of her lips seemed still to be upon his own, and a strange thrilling wonder lingered, too, whenever he brought her flower-like face to mind.
    He was glad he had happened to pass the flower shop on his way from the ship, glad that he could snatch time to give his order and scribble those few words on the card. It warmed his heart to think he could have that much touch with her. And now, he positively must put her out of his thoughts. He never had a girl entangle herself in his mind this way. And she had not tried to do it. She was just a lonely child, genuinely glad to see a face she could recognize. No, she was never a girl who would set herself to attract a young man’s attention. She had always kept so utterly in the background in school. Strange that he should be so interested in her now, after just those few minutes. That he should so long to do something more for her. He felt he would like to give her another word of cheer as she went on her way. That was impossible, of course. Just because he had kissed a girl good-bye didn’t mean he must follow her all across the ocean and cheer her up. He couldn’t yet understand why he had kissed her. It had been so sudden! But it had been wonderful, the sweetest thing he ever remembered. Well, he could write to her later, though he didn’t feel that she had given him a complete address. He could send her a book or two he thought she would enjoy. That would be perfectly legitimate, without seeming to be rushing her. He must keep steady.
    Yet the wish to have another contact with her continued, and toward the end of the week