She had discarded her blond wig, and her pretty brown hair parted in the middle and rippled behind her ears. Her large violet-blue eyes had a devouring look that would stir the pulse of a saint. She accosted the Youth with a smile of particular witchery.
"Say, kid, won't you come and have a two-step with me? I've been looking at you for the last half-hour and wishing you'd ask me."
The Youth had advised me: "If any of them asks you, tell them to go to the devil;" but now he looked at her and his boyish face flushed.
"Nothing doing," he said stoutly.
"Oh, come now," she pleaded; "honest to goodness, kid, I've turned down the other fellow for you. You won't refuse me, will you? Come on; just one, sweetheart."
She was holding the lapels of his coat and dragging him gently forward. I could see him biting his lip in embarrassment.
"No, thanks, I'm sorry," he stammered. "I don't know how to dance. Besides, I've got no money."
She grew more coaxing.
"Never mind about the coin, honey. Come on, have one on me. Don't turn me down, I've taken such a notion to you. Come on now; just one turn."
I watched his face. His eyes clouded with emotion, and I knew the psychology of it. He was thinking: