Nevertheless, she gradually grew more composed, and, when her mother tapped on the door presently, let her in.
Mrs.Adams looked at her with quick apprehension.
"Oh, poor child! Wasn't he----" Alice told her.

"You see how it--how it made me look, mama," she quavered, having concluded her narrative.

"I'd tried to cover up Walter's awfulness at the dance with that story about his being 'literary,' but no story was big enough to cover this up--and oh! it must make him think I tell stories about other things!" "No, no, no!" Mrs.Adams protested.

"Don't you see?
At the worst, all HE could think is that Walter told stories to you about why he likes to be with such dreadful people, and you believed them.

That's all HE'D think; don't you see ?" Alice's wet eyes began to show a little hopefulness.