“I came to propose to Gail,” announced Dick calmly, and took her hand again, bending down on her that wonderfully magnetic gaze, so that she was panic-stricken in the idea that he was about to proceed with his project right on the spot.
“Wait until after the dance,” she laughingly requested, drawing back a step and blushing furiously.
“We’re wasting time,” protested Arly. “Hurry on in, Dick. We want to exhibit you.”
“I don’t mind,” consented Dick cheerfully, and stepped through the doorway, where he created the gasp.
Eleven girls dreamed of his melting eyes that night; and Howard Clemmens lost his monopoly. Viewing Gail’s victorious scramble with Arly for Dick’s exclusive possession, Howard’s friends unanimously reduced him to the ranks.
After the dance, Dick made good his threat with Gail, and formally proposed, urging his enterprise in coming after her as one of his claims to consideration; but Gail, laughing, and liking him tremendously, told him he was too handsome to be married, and sent him back home with a fresh gardenia in his buttonhole. That night Arly and Gail sat long and silently on the comfortable couch in front of Arly’s fireplace, one in fluffy blue and the other in fluffy pink, and the one in fluffy blue furtively studying the one in fluffy pink from under her black eyelashes. The one in pink was gazing into the fire with far-seeing brown eyes, and was braiding and unbraiding, with slender white fingers, a flowing strand of her brown hair.
“Gail,” ventured the one in blue.
“Yes.” This abstractedly.
“Aren’t you a little bit homesick? I am.”
“So am I!” answered Gail, with sudden animation.