The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

standing at the counter. She saw them and smiled. “Hi!” she greeted them and then, looking up at James, added; “You see how I improve in my American, ‘Hi,’ I say, instead of ’Ello,’ and ‘O.K.’ instead of ‘all right.’ Did I not learn fast?”
    “James Brewster will be the first to sign your diploma, Phil, and yes, I’ll add a golden seal to it, too. Nothing like being in the business.” James beamed at Philippine as he answered her.
    Fredericka was glad to be forgotten. As she recovered her composure, she watched the two covertly. What kind of a man was this who would force himself on one woman, and a second later, make up to another? She looked at Philippine and admitted to herself that one couldn’t blame James for being attracted to her. She looked efficient and capable and yet she had not suffered as a woman—she was better described by James’s word “remarkable,” perhaps, than his earlier adjective “good.”
    Feeling Fredericka’s eyes on her, Philippine turned away from James and said: “My treat. What would you like? I am having a shake of chocolate milk.”
    The boy behind the counter guffawed loudly. Philippine, sensing that he was laughing at her, frowned, and for a moment it was as though a dark cloud had shaded her pleasant face. But she recovered quickly and laughed herself. “What do I say now, Jo?” she asked, and then with a look of despair: “And I have just been boasting that I speak such good American!”
    The boy looked embarrassed and Fredericka said quickly: “Just limeade for me.” It didn’t matter what she had. She only wanted to stay in the lighted room and not move again into the darkness.
    Jo tossed the paper cup into its silver sconce, filled it with a flick of his hand, and put two straws expertly into the arsenic-green liquid.
    Philippine pretended a shudder of distaste. “How can you drink that bottled poison?” she asked.
    “Come Philippine, don’t run everyone’s life,” James said amiably, lowering his large body on to one of the counter seats. “We all know you run yours perfectly but you’ll never get a husband if you’re too managing.”
    Philippine pouted like a child and looked up at him disingenuously. Fredericka did not miss the look of understanding that passed between them. She had no desire to talk and it seemed best to stay out of the conversation. Turning away from the counter she held her drink in her hand and looked around her over the tops of the straws. She was aware that her hand was trembling and she made an effort to steady it.
    She saw that the room was filled with young people, high school age for the most part, and a scattering of older men and women. They sat crowded into the booths or around the marble-topped tables in the centre. Fredericka recognized a few of the bookshop’s customers and then, in the distance, she saw Margie. The girl was standing by herself at the far end of the room reading a comic. She seemed conspicuously alone and forlorn in the noisy room where everyone else of her own age was apparently having such a good time.
    In spite of her own discomfort and her antagonism to Margie, Fredericka could not help feeling sorry for the girl. She was about to go and ask her to join them in a drink when Philippine, who had been watching the direction of her gaze, said: “I’ve asked her already but she says ‘No.’ Margie is always having—how do you say it?—the sulks. She is a nice child really but she thinks everyone doesn’t like her—and so they don’t because she thinks it.”
    “Can’t anything be done about her face?” James asked.
    “It’s a nervous thing, I think, really,” Philippine said with obvious concern. “We’ve tried everything.”
    “All your fancy herbs?”
    “Yes. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see if she doesn’t grow out of it. Poor kid.”
    As though aware that she was being observed and discussed, Margie looked several times in their direction and then put the comic back on its pile and banged out of the door.
    “Bother the child,” Fredericka said under her breath. She had failed again to ask Margie about that wretched box. Well, too much had happened too suddenly. She couldn’t think of everything at once. Even Peter would understand that. But she couldn’t tell him about James. He would think—what would he think?
    She was still standing, deep in thought and sucking absently at her straws when a familiar voice said: “Aren’t you making a