" "Perhaps I'm too tired to plan for to-morrow. He even hugged her a few times, something he had never done. \"May I come in?\" His bravado was increasing. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. "If things had gone smoothly," he thought, "I should have cursed the fellow's stupidity. But—if you are a friend of Mr. ‘I can’t do that.
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