Page:The Star in the Window.pdf/99

Rh her own embarrassment in her sudden desire to lessen his. "Oh, yes. Really. I don't want any one else," she said. Then, shouldering the entire responsibility of the conversation, she went on, "We ought to know each other's names, oughn't we? Mine's Jerome—Miss Rebecca Jerome," and after a pause, "What's yours?" she asked.

"Nathaniel Cawthorne, on paper," he answered. "But at sea I was called Nat Crow."

"You've been to sea?" she inquired, inspired to conversation by the kindness in her heart.

"I've been little where's else for the last eight years. Up in the crow's nest—away from people and things, most of the time. That's where I got my name. It used to be Nat Caw. A crazy Chinaman cut off those two fingers you noticed, when I was trying to pull myself into a life-boat off the China coast once," he explained. "I'm a rough, sea-faring fellow. I ought not to have come here, I guess." He was still apologizing.

"Oh, yes, you ought! Yes, you ought!" Reba told him.

Suddenly somebody struck a chord on the piano, and Miss Park announced that the blues and yellows would dance first. There was a rush for the floor. Reba and her partner, however, sat quite still in their places. Then shyly, "Do you dance?" inquired Reba.

"Oh, no. No. I don't." He seemed alarmed. "I don't know how to do any of those things. You go on, and leave me. I don't mind," he urged.

"Oh, I don't care about dancing," Reba cheerfully denied. "We can watch instead." And they did—for half an hour or so, sitting dumbly side by side, hidden