angry, craving desire:

"You are the loveliest thing in the world. The next time you'll know me.
By God, the next time I'll _make_ you know me."

VIII

In the examination hall George called upon his will to drive from his
mind the details of that encounter. Lambert might be dependable, but if
Sylvia had actually recognized him what might she not say to Betty
Alston? He didn't want to see the kindness vanish from Betty's eyes, nor
the friendliness from her manner. Lambert's assurance, moreover, that
Sylvia had forgotten him lingered irritatingly.

"I will not think of it," George told himself. "I will think of nothing
but this paper. I will pass it."

This ability to discipline his mind had increased steadily during his
hours before Sylvia's portrait. The simple command "I will," was a
necessity his brain met with a decreasing reluctance. For two hours now
it excluded everything except his work. At the end of that time he
signed his paper, sat back, and examined the anxious young men crowded
about him in the long room. From these he must sooner or later detach
the ones of value to himself. That first quick appraisal disclosed
little; they were clothed too much to a pattern, wearing black jerseys,
more often than not, black clothes, with black caps hanging from the
supports of their chairs. In their faces, however, were visible
differences that made him uneasy. Even from a uniform, then, men, to an
extent, projected discrepancies of birth, or training, or habit. He
sighed and turned in his paper.

At the foot of the stairs groups collected, discussing the ordeal
pessimistically. As he started to walk through, several spoke to George.

"How did _you_ hit it, Morton?"

Already he was well spotted. He paused and joined the apprehensive
chatter.

"It's a toss-up with me," Rogers admitted. "Don't tell me any answers.
If ignorance is bliss, I want to stay dumb."

He caught George's arm.

"Have you met Dicky Goodhue? Hello, Goodhue!"

Goodhue gave the impression of not having met Rogers to any extent. He
was a sturdy young man with handsome, finely formed features. George
looked at him closely, because this young man alone of the Freshmen he
had met remained unmoved by his fame.

"Would like you to meet Morton, Goodhue."

Goodhue glanced at George inquiringly, almost resentfully.

"George Morton," Rogers stumbled on, as if an apology were necessary.
"Stringham, you know, and Green----"

"Glad to meet you,