The secret remained confined to the two girls and Sandy and me.
That was some appeasement of my pain, but it was far from sufficient--the main trouble remained: I was under four mocking eyes, and it might as well have been a thousand, for I suspected all girls' eyes of being the ones I so dreaded.

During several weeks I could not look any young lady in the face; I dropped my eyes in confusion when any one of them smiled upon me and gave me greeting; and I said to myself, "_That is one of them_," and got quickly away.

Of course I was meeting the right girls everywhere, but if they ever let slip any betraying sign I was not bright enough to catch it.

When I left Hannibal four years later, the secret was still a secret; I had never guessed those girls out, and was no longer expecting to do it.

Nor wanting to, either.
One of the dearest and prettiest girls in the village at the time of my mishap was one whom I will call Mary Wilson, because that was not her name.