“It wouldn't be easy.”
“I look upon her,” said Fane, with an effect of argument in the sweetness of his smile, “just as I would upon any other young lady in the house. Do you spell apology with one p or two?”
“One,” said the student, and the clerk made a minute on a piece of paper.
“I feel badly for the girl. I don't want her to think I was teasing her or taking any sort of liberty with her. Now, would you apologize to her, if you was in my place, and would you write a note, or just wait your chance and speak to her?”
Gregory got down from his stool with a disdainful laugh, and went out of the place. “You make me sick, Fane,” he said.
The last dance was over, and the young ladies who had been waltzing with one another, came out of the parlor with gay cries and laughter, like summer girls who had been at a brilliant hop, and began to stray down the piazzas, and storm into the office. Several of them fluttered up to the desk, as the clerk had foretold, and looked for letters in the boxes bearing their initials. They called him out, and asked if he had not forgotten something for them. He denied it with a sad, wise smile, and then they tried to provoke him to a belated flirtation, in lack of other material, but he met their overtures discreetly, and they presently said, Well, they guessed they must go; and went. Fane turned to encounter Gregory, who had come in by a side door.
“Fane, I want to beg your pardon. I was rude to you just now.”
“Oh, no! Oh, no!” the clerk protested. “That's all right. Sit down a while, can't you, and talk with a fellow. It's early, yet.”
“No, I can't. I just wanted to say I was sorry I spoke in that way. Good-night. Is there anything in particular?”
“No; good-night. I was just wondering about—that girl.”