ool
skirt swinging about her ankles. "Is there a book I can help you
find?" she asked, whirling toward him like a schoolgirl.

"Actually," the professor said, nervously drawing out the word. "I've
not come in a--a professional capacity at all today."

"Oh?" Gretchen turned to look at him, but kept walking. With her free
hand, she extracted a strand of hair from her mouth.

"The other evening--at coffee," he said, taking up the pace beside her.
"Well, really, I found the conversation most delightful and..."

"Yes?" Gretchen stopped, then knelt to shelve another book, lower down.

"And I was wondering," he continued rather quickly, as if he dare not
speak of it, "whether you might consent to dine with me this evening."

Gretchen stood up, rather slowly. "I--well..."

"Yes," the professor stammered, "of course--such short notice. I
understand. It's hardly proper, and I'm sure you're quite busy.
Perhaps another time." He stepped backward as if to take his leave.

"Not at all," Gretchen said with a faint smile. She clutched the heavy
books more tightly in her arms. "I should be delighted, really." She
caught his eye then, and saw it twinkle. The sight of his smile could
not but make her return it fully. "The other evening, it did seem
there was ever so much more to say." She continued down the row, with
Professor Bridwell beside her.

"Is that an acceptance?"

She laughed and stopped to face him squarely, as if astonished. "Why,
I believe it is, Professor." She blinked her eyes. The sudden blush
in his cheeks was profound, and she composed herself to keep from
laughing.

"Would six o'clock be too late? Or too early?"

"Neither, Professor." Gretchen thought he looked as if he had been
handed a Christmas goose. "I'll meet you at the main entrance."

"Stupendous! I'll..." He still sounded incredulous, and seemed near
to bursting. He pushed his black locks from his eye, and twisted a
lock on one finger. "I'll meet you at six then?"

They took their leaves of each other, and Gretchen thought she heard a
faint whistling in the main stairwell as the sound of his boots on the
stone steps receded. She flew to her cart immediately the sound died
away in the distance. Her unflagging concentration would be required
if she were to be finished by six--she had seven more cartloads of
books, and less than five hours in which to reshelve them all. She did
not stop or rest until five forty-five, whe