of her work and seemed well pleased with young Dr. Scoles. Phil thought he might see more of her, but he didn ’ t know—
He kept thinking of Page Arning , remembering her pale, shining hair, her shadowed eyes, her beautiful, still face. He should have talked to her about her work, instead of his. He ’ d do that the next time. Only, that was a difficulty. How would he go about seeing her again? He could, maybe, play like a stage-door Johnny, hang around the door of her building ...
He was too busy, fortunately, for that kind of nonsense. And then, one day, he met her in the first floor hall of the pathology lab. He was so surprised that he almost did not speak. For one thing, he ’ d thought to see her in lab whites, had imagined how she would look. And then—here she was in a suit of some pale color, with two enameled pins on the lapel—just like any girl would wear ...
He stammered a greeting, and she nodded, her vague eyes telling that she hadn ’ t any idea who he was.
“I ’ m Scoles,” Phil reminded her. “I met you out at Lowry ’ s?” By now, he ’ d gotten hold of himself, and could manage a smile.
“Oh, yes!” she said, though he still didn ’ t think she remembered. “I don ’ t have a good memory for faces ...”
“Well, it probably doesn ’ t bother you in your work,” Phil reassured her. He thought she flinched.
“No,” she said coolly, “it doesn ’ t.” And Phil found himself with a good view of her departing back. He still thought she was beautiful. Walked well—pretty legs, straight shoulders ...
She knew him the next time they met, and after an encounter or two, he asked her if she ’ d have dinner with him. It wasn ’ t an arranged date. He ’ d run into her out on the sidewalk, and it was five in the evening, so—
To his surprise, she agreed. He asked her where she ’ d like to go, and she suggested Garavelli ’ s. She liked Italian food, and a woman alone didn ’ t feel comfortable at such a place.
Phil had bought himself a car—nothing sensational — and he felt hopeful about this date. But nothing much happened. She remained intellectual, and cold. As for conversation, he wangled a discussion on the subject of whether beauty and brains tended to go hand in hand, or vice versa.
She said she supposed he had women in mind?
He pleaded guilty.
“The popular imagination doesn ’ t do much more for brainy men than it does for women,” said this Dr. Arning . She had ordered her dinner with an air of knowing what she wanted. She began to eat it in a purposeful fashion. “Public fancy typifies him as high-domed, pallid—and not too appealing to the opposite sex.” She lifted her thick lashes to glance gravely at Dr. Scoles.
“Then I wouldn ’ t qualify,” he attempted. She agreed, and then relented.
“All that, of course, is gross libel,” said Page Arning , skillfully winding spaghetti around the fork she held against a spoon. “I think it was at Columbia that tests were made; they selected groups, both male and female. One group showed a Stanford-Binet quotient of 135 and upward . The second was average; 90 to 110, you know?”
Phil watched her, and said nothing.
“Then they submitted those young people to a panel of judges—men and women—who were to grade them as beautiful, good-looking or physically attractive. The students with the higher intelligence ratings were consistently judged to be better-looking than those of average IQ. I think this test was repeated at Temple, and with the same results.”
Well—there went Dr. Scoles ’ topic of conversation, and with it all opportunity to butter up this lovely, and brainy, young woman.
So Phil asked her how her work was going.
Very well.
He was still floundering for another opening—he hated to ask what books she ’ d been reading lately!—when a noisy group barged into the place, and among them was Min Brady. She didn ’ t see Phil—but the sight of her gave him a chance to ask Dr.
He kept thinking of Page Arning , remembering her pale, shining hair, her shadowed eyes, her beautiful, still face. He should have talked to her about her work, instead of his. He ’ d do that the next time. Only, that was a difficulty. How would he go about seeing her again? He could, maybe, play like a stage-door Johnny, hang around the door of her building ...
He was too busy, fortunately, for that kind of nonsense. And then, one day, he met her in the first floor hall of the pathology lab. He was so surprised that he almost did not speak. For one thing, he ’ d thought to see her in lab whites, had imagined how she would look. And then—here she was in a suit of some pale color, with two enameled pins on the lapel—just like any girl would wear ...
He stammered a greeting, and she nodded, her vague eyes telling that she hadn ’ t any idea who he was.
“I ’ m Scoles,” Phil reminded her. “I met you out at Lowry ’ s?” By now, he ’ d gotten hold of himself, and could manage a smile.
“Oh, yes!” she said, though he still didn ’ t think she remembered. “I don ’ t have a good memory for faces ...”
“Well, it probably doesn ’ t bother you in your work,” Phil reassured her. He thought she flinched.
“No,” she said coolly, “it doesn ’ t.” And Phil found himself with a good view of her departing back. He still thought she was beautiful. Walked well—pretty legs, straight shoulders ...
She knew him the next time they met, and after an encounter or two, he asked her if she ’ d have dinner with him. It wasn ’ t an arranged date. He ’ d run into her out on the sidewalk, and it was five in the evening, so—
To his surprise, she agreed. He asked her where she ’ d like to go, and she suggested Garavelli ’ s. She liked Italian food, and a woman alone didn ’ t feel comfortable at such a place.
Phil had bought himself a car—nothing sensational — and he felt hopeful about this date. But nothing much happened. She remained intellectual, and cold. As for conversation, he wangled a discussion on the subject of whether beauty and brains tended to go hand in hand, or vice versa.
She said she supposed he had women in mind?
He pleaded guilty.
“The popular imagination doesn ’ t do much more for brainy men than it does for women,” said this Dr. Arning . She had ordered her dinner with an air of knowing what she wanted. She began to eat it in a purposeful fashion. “Public fancy typifies him as high-domed, pallid—and not too appealing to the opposite sex.” She lifted her thick lashes to glance gravely at Dr. Scoles.
“Then I wouldn ’ t qualify,” he attempted. She agreed, and then relented.
“All that, of course, is gross libel,” said Page Arning , skillfully winding spaghetti around the fork she held against a spoon. “I think it was at Columbia that tests were made; they selected groups, both male and female. One group showed a Stanford-Binet quotient of 135 and upward . The second was average; 90 to 110, you know?”
Phil watched her, and said nothing.
“Then they submitted those young people to a panel of judges—men and women—who were to grade them as beautiful, good-looking or physically attractive. The students with the higher intelligence ratings were consistently judged to be better-looking than those of average IQ. I think this test was repeated at Temple, and with the same results.”
Well—there went Dr. Scoles ’ topic of conversation, and with it all opportunity to butter up this lovely, and brainy, young woman.
So Phil asked her how her work was going.
Very well.
He was still floundering for another opening—he hated to ask what books she ’ d been reading lately!—when a noisy group barged into the place, and among them was Min Brady. She didn ’ t see Phil—but the sight of her gave him a chance to ask Dr.
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