Martin and Professor Caldwell had got together in a conspicuous corner, and though Martin no longer wove the air with his hands, to Ruth's critical eye he permitted his own eyes to flash and glitter too frequently, talked too rapidly and warmly, grew too intense, and allowed his aroused blood to redden his cheeks too much.
Furthermore, Professor Caldwell did not realize Martin's concept of the average English professor.
So Martin contaminated Professor Caldwell with his own earnestness, challenging him to speak his mind.
Just as Ruth's face, in a momentary jealousy had called before his eyes a forgotten moonlight gale, and as Professor Caldwell made him see again the Northeast Trade herding the white billows across the purple sea, so, from moment to moment, not disconcerting but rather identifying and classifying, new memory- visions rose before him, or spread under his eyelids, or were thrown upon the screen of his consciousness.
So it was, as he listened to Professor Caldwell's easy flow of speech - the conversation of a clever, cultured man - that Martin kept seeing himself down all his past.
But such thoughts and visions did not prevent him from following Professor Caldwell closely.
She had sat two lecture courses under Professor Caldwell and looked up to him as the living repository of all knowledge.
Professor Caldwell sat for a full minute, silent and fingering his watch chain.
"You shouldn't have monopolized Professor Caldwell that way.