“High school,” he murmured low. “Ah, that is the age of romance, of exquisite grace and beauty. I must meet her,” he repeated.
For just no real reason at all Florence wished to say, “I hope you never do,” and there came also a temptation to emphasize her thought with two or three words that do not often appear in print. What she did say was, “Won’t you have a seat? You wanted to see me about something?”
“Yes—yes—ah—” Hugo appeared to dance toward a chair. He sat down with the flourish of an expert rider mounting a horse. “Yes,—er—” He was on his feet again, circling about that picture. At last, like a bee that has circled a flower, his gaze came to a center close to the picture. “Ah yes,” he murmured. “A very great artist. A priceless thing!” Heaving a sigh, he tore himself away.
“Yes, Miss Huyler.” His change of poise and tone was fairly stunning. As he wheeled about he was once more the social conquistador, seeking, the girl knew not what advantage. “Yes, Miss Huyler, we admire you. In fact we enjoyed the party so much we wish you to organize another within a week, a truly wonderful party, a harvest ball. A thing to be done in costume, a masked ball.”
Florence might have reminded him that she had started her little social meeting as one sort of affair and that he had ended it in quite a different manner. She might have told him that if he wanted any sort of party at all, he was quite free to get it up as he chose. She did nothing of the kind. Instead, she said: “And does Mr. Force approve?”
“Oh, Force!” Hugo made a dismissing gesture. “He doesn’t mind. He wants this dead old town wakened up!”
“Does he?” Florence said quietly.
“Does he?” Hugo stared. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”
Florence started. “Yes, yes, I suppose that is why I’m here,” she replied hurriedly. It would never do for any of these people to guess why she was here. “Yes. And I am sure the party will be all right. I can count on your assistance and—and all the others?”
“Absolutely! Absolutely! That’s the spirit!” Hugo sprang forward to grasp her hand. For Florence that was a disturbing handclasp. Hugo’s hand was hot and trembling. After holding her hand ten seconds too long for her comfort, he suddenly dropped it to do three more turns about the room. Then, making a grab at his hat, and snatching a look at his watch, he exclaimed: “Must be going!” At that he bolted out of the room.