“Will somebody tell me why I’m living?” he queried to the air above her head. “Boy, but it’s cold to-night! I left the old automatic at home so I can’t die just yet, girlie. Come on, just one dance, will you?”
By this time the girl was fully convinced of his glib-tongued, regular-guy status, and felt that he had implored enough to serve as a sufficient payment for his dance. She rose, without a word, and accompanied him to the floor. Similar episodes were being enacted around Blanche and Rosenberg, and he said, with a grin: “It sure gets me when I listen to what you girls fall for. That’s why I lose out—I hate to talk that kind of line.”
“Oh, go on, you’d do it if you could,” answered Blanche. “A girl always likes a fellow ’f he knows how to be funny and don’t carry it too far. You know what I mean. I never was so crazy ’bout this kidding stuff myself, but then maybe that’s why you like me, isn’t it, Lou?”
“You’ve got something in you, all right,” he replied. “You don’t know so much more’n other girls, but you make me feel that you’re diff’rent, anyway. I guess it’s because you don’t put up so much bluffing and leading a fellow on, like other girls do.”
She laughed to hide her pleasure at the compliment, and because another part of her said inaudibly: “Oh, I don’t, eh? Well, I’ll show you, before I’m through!”
“You’re a funny fellow, but I’ve met them worse than you,” she said.
They danced until 1 A.M., after which he escorted her to the apartment. As they stood in the musty, narrow, dimly lit hallway, an emotion like a Roman-candle spun around in his breast, and for the first time he grasped her with rough, active hands, and breathed hard as he whispered short, incoherent pleadings. She pushed him back with an undeniable anger and force which made him grow still and dismayed, and they stood for a moment, looking at each other.
“So, you’re like all the rest of ’em,” she said. “What do you think I am? You’ve got your nerve, you have. You can’t put your hands on me that way, and don’t forget it!”
“Well, I’m sorry,” he answered, downcast. “I didn’t mean to act like that, but something got the better of me. I couldn’t think of anything except I wanted you. I’m in love with you, Blanche, and I guess I didn’t know it till just now. I’d ask you to marry me to-morrow ’f I had money enough to keep us going.”
She softened at this switch to a “decent” proposal, and she reproached herself for having flirted too much with him without loving him or caring a great deal for his embraces. She liked to hear him talk, but when he touched her he was awkward and hasty, and without that winning blend of confidence and gradual boldness which she liked in a man’s approaches.