"I suppose, if I were a coquette," she said, flushing a little under the very open admiration of his eyes, "which I am not—"
"I'm not so sure," he murmured but she pretended not to hear the interruption.
"I should deny that you had spoiled the dance. As it is," she flashed him a pretty smile that robbed her words of all sting, "I'm telling you the truth."
"And I," he countered, "am telling you the truth when I say that if it were possible to talk with you and dance at the same time, I should not have brought you here. As it is, I choose the greater of the two blessings."
"It must be very important—this that you have to say to me," replied Betty, adding demurely: "Perhaps if you would tell me all about it, we could dance again."
"In other words, 'get the agony over'," said Joe, with a grimace. He waited a moment, while the girls, who had danced to the end of the record, turned it over, put in a new needle and started off all over again.
"I don't know whether it will seem important to you or not," he said at last, turning slowly toward her. "But what I have to tell you is just about the most important thing in life to me."
The tone as well as the words sobered Betty, and she turned to him earnestly.
"I shall be very glad to hear it then," she said simply.
"I—you—it's rather hard to begin," he stammered, then straightened up and faced her frankly.