His gripping fingers closed over Sue Rainey's hand.
He turned, amused by the incident, and began making a halting explanation.
There were tears in Sue Rainey's eyes.
"I wish I had known her," she said and drew her hand from between his
fingers. "I wish you had known me better that I also might have known your
Janet. They are rare--such women. They are worth much to know. Most women
like most men--"
She made an impatient gesture with her hand and Sam, turning, walked
toward the door. He felt that he might not trust himself to answer her.
For the first time since coming to manhood he felt that tears might at any
moment come into his eyes. Grief for the loss of Janet surged through him
disconcerting and engulfing him.
"I have been doing you an injustice," said Sue Rainey, looking at the
floor. "I have thought of you as something different from what you are.
There is a story I heard of you which gave me a wrong impression."
Sam smiled. Having conquered the commotion within himself, he laughed and
explained the incident of the man who had slid down the pole.
"What was the story you heard?" he asked.
"It was a story a young man told at our house," she explained
hesitatingly, refusing to be carried away from her mood of seriousness.
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