This sort of thing would have been an education for Gay, had he been amenable to such teaching; but what women see and know without a tutor he would and could never know. Wherefore, such dialogues as this were common:
Fancy: "The brute! He's actually made her cry, now. She's a little fool, though; it's good enough for her!"
From Gay: "Where?—who do you mean?"
"Over there in the corner—don't stare so, please!—See those two fellows and two girls? The girl in the white waist is tied up in a heart-to-heart talk with that bald-headed chap, but she's dead in love with the other fellow, see? Yes, that fellow with the mustache. My! but she's jealous of the other girl."
"How can you tell? Oh, that's all a pipe-dream, Fancy!"
"Why, any fool would know it—any woman would, I mean. She had a few words with him—the fellow she's stuck on, just now! He must have said something pretty raw. Look at her eyes! You can tell from here there are tears in them. Look! See? I thought so. She's going to try and make him jealous! What do you think of that?"
"Why, she's changed places with him; what's that for?" To Gay, the drama was as mysterious as a Chinese play.
"Just to get him crazy, of course! That other fellow thinks she's really after him, too. The other girl sees through the whole game, of course. My, but men are easy! Those two fellows are certainly being worked good and plenty. Just look at the way she's freezing up to that bald-headed chap now. Well, I never! If that other girl isn't trying to get you on the string. Smile at her, Gay, and see what she'll do."
"Never mind about her!" said Gay, secretly pleased at the tribute. "You girls can always see a whole lot more than what really happens. She's just changed places on account of the draught, probably. She is lamping me, though, isn't she? Say, she's a peach, all right!"
"Yes, she's sure pretty. Say, Gay—"