Helen's
elder sister was a senior in that same college, and was graduated at
the close of my freshman year. The father, mother, and brother came on
to the graduation. And that is where I met Jerry.
If it might be called meeting him. He lifted his hat, bowed, said a
polite nothing with his lips, and an indifferent "Oh, some friend of
Helen's," with his eyes, and turned to a radiant blonde senior at my
side.
And that was all--for him. But for me--
All that day I watched him whenever opportunity offered; and I
suspect that I took care that opportunity offered frequently. I was
fascinated. I had never seen any one like him before. Tall, handsome,
brilliant, at perfect ease, he plainly dominated every group of which
he was a part. Toward him every face was turned--yet he never seemed
to know it. (Whatever his faults, Jerry is _not_ conceited. I will
give him credit for that!) To me he did not speak again that day. I am
not sure that he even looked at me. If he did there must still have
been in his eyes only the "Oh, some friend of Helen's," that I had
seen at the morning introduction.
I did not meet Jerry Weston again for nearly a year; but that did not
mean that I did not hear of him. I wonder if Helen ever noticed how
often I used to get her to talk of her home and her family life; and
how interested I was in her gallery of portraits on the mantel--there
were two fine ones of her brother there.
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