He had gone straight home from the station and begun to write to me.

(How like Jerry that was--particularly the special-delivery stamp!) The most of his letter, aside from the usual lover's rhapsodies, had to do with plans for the summer--what we would do together at the Westons' summer cottage in Newport.

He said he should run up to Andersonville early--very early; just as soon as I was back from college, in fact, so that he might meet Father and Mother, and put that ring on my finger.
And while I read the letter, I just knew he would do it.

Why, I could even see the sparkle of the ring on my finger.

But in five minutes after the letter was folded and put away, I knew, with equal certitude--that he wouldn't.
It was like that all that spring term.