The human tide began flowing back toward the betting shed, and left them alone in a cleared space by the palings. Then, the man saw a quick anger sweep into the girl’s face and deepen the color of her cheeks. Her chin went up a trifle, and her lips tightened.
He found himself all at once in deep confusion. He wanted to tell her that he had not realized the actuality of his staring impertinence, until she had, with a flush of unuttered wrath and embarrassment, revealed the depth of his felony ... for he could no longer regard it as a misdemeanor.
There was a note of contempt in her eyes that stung him, and presently he found himself stammering an excuse.
“I beg your pardon—I didn’t realize it,” he began lamely. Then he added as though to explain it all with the frank outspokenness of a school-boy: “I was wishing that I could paint you—I couldn’t help gazing.”
For a few moments as she stood rigidly and indignantly silent, he had opportunity to reflect on the inadequacy of his explanation. At last, she spoke with the fine disdain of affronted royalty.
“Are you quite through looking at me? May I go now?”
He was contrite.
“I don’t know that I could explain—but it wasn’t meant to be—to be——” He broke off, floundering.
“It’s a little strange,” she commented quietly as though talking to herself, “because you look like a gentleman.”
The man flushed.