Today dozen cadets who had been among his friends seemed not to see him.
Dick recoiled, inwardly, as though from a stinging blow in the face.

None of his comrades meant to be cruel.

But most of them wanted to make sure that the seemingly reliable charge was not true.

They must wait.
Utterly dejected, Prescott marched to dinner.

On his way back to barracks a new and overwhelming thought came to him.
Laura Bentley and her mother, and Belle Meade were due at the hotel the next afternoon, and he and Greg had arranged to drag the girls to the Saturday-night hop.
"Greg, I can't leave quarters," muttered Dick huskily, as he threw himself down at his desk and began to write rapidly.