“Yuh, fat chance you girls staying home and knitting! You got some fellows coming in and you want to get rid of us, that’s what’s the trouble.”
“It is not, Mr. James Lefferts, and it wouldn’t be any of your business if it was!”
While Jim and Nellie squabbled, Elmer slipped his hand about Juanita’s shoulder, slowly pressed her against him. He believed with terrible conviction that she was beautiful, that she was glorious, that she was life. There was heaven in the softness of her curving shoulder, and her pale flesh was living silk.
“Come on in the other room,” he pleaded.
“Oh—no—not now.”
He gripped her arm.
“Well—don’t come in for a minute,” she fluttered. Aloud, to the others, “I’m going to do my hair. Looks just ter-ble!”
She slipped into the room beyond. A certain mature self-reliance dropped from Elmer’s face, and he was like a round-faced big baby, somewhat frightened. With efforts to appear careless, he fumbled about the room and dusted a pink and gilt vase with his large crumpled handkerchief. He was near the inner door.
He peeped at Jim and Nellie. They were holding hands, while the coffee-pot was cheerfully boiling over. Elmer’s heart thumped. He slipped through the door and closed it, whimpering, as in terror:
“Oh—Juanita—”