Rina shut the door behind her slowly.
"I was wondering if I could be excused from the dance Saturday night?"
Margaret Bradley stared at her. For a moment, she couldn't believe her ears.
Missing the monthly dance was considered the ultimate punishment.
The girls would do anything rather than lose that privilege.
It was the only time boys were allowed within the confines of the school.
"I don't understand," she said.
Rina looked down at the floor.
"I just don't want to go, that's all."
It wasn't because the boys didn't like her. The teacher knew it was quite the opposite.
The slim, blond sixteen-year-old standing before her was surrounded by boys at every dance.
She came from a good family. The Marlowes were well known in Boston. Her father was a banker, a widower.
"That's a rather strange request," she said. "You must have a reason."
Rina still looked down at the floor. She didn't answer.
Margaret Bradley forced a smile to her lips.
"Come now," she said in a friendly voice. "You can talk to me. I'm not that much older than you that I wouldn't understand."
Rina looked up at her and she was surprised by the deep revelation of fear in the girl's eyes. Then it was gone and she looked down at the floor again.
The teacher got up and walked around the desk. She took Rina's hand and led her to a seat.
"You're afraid of something," she said gently.
"I can't stand them touching me," she whispered.
"Them?"
Margaret Bradley asked, her voice puzzled. "Who?"
"Boys.
They all want to touch me and my skin creeps."
Rina looked up suddenly. "It would be all right if they just wanted to dance or to talk but they're always trying to get you alone someplace."
"What boys?" The teacher's voice was suddenly harsh. "We'll soon put a stop to their coming here."
Rina got up suddenly.
"I’d better go," she said nervously. "I didn't think it would work, anyway."
She started for the door. "Wait a minute!" Margaret Bradley's voice was commanding. Rina turned and looked back at her.
"Did any of them do more than- than just touch you?" Rina shook her head. "How old are you?"
"Sixteen," Rina answered.
"I guess by now you know that boys are always like that."
Rina nodded.
"I felt the same way when I was your age."
"You did?" Rina asked.
A note of relief came into her voice. "I thought I was the only one.
None of the other girls feel the way I do."
'They’re fools!" The teacher's voice was full of a harsh anger, but she checked herself sharply. There was no sense in allowing her bitterness to expose her. "I was just going to make myself a cup of tea," she said. "Would you care to join me?"
Rina hesitated. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble."
"It won't be any trouble at all," Margaret Bradley said. "Now, you just sit down and make yourself comfortable. I'll have the tea ready in a minute."
She went into the small kitchenette. To her surprise, she found herself humming as she turned on the burner beneath the teakettle.
"I think a summer in Europe between now and the time she goes to Smith in the fall would be of great benefit to her," Margaret Bradley said.
Harrison Marlowe leaned back in his chair and looked at the teacher across the white expanse of the dinner table, then at Rina, seated opposite her.
What he saw inspired a kind of confidence in him.
A plain, not unattractive young woman in her late twenties, he imagined.
She wore simple, tailored clothes, almost mannish in their effect, that seemed to proclaim her profession.
She had none of the foolish mannerisms that so many of the young women had today.
There was nothing of the flapper about her. She was very serious and businesslike.
"Her mother and I often spoke about Rina going to Europe," he began tentatively.
"No girl is considered quite finished if she hasn't spent some time there," the teacher said assuredly.