Page:The plastic age, (IA plasticage00mark).pdf/100

84 girls liked his clean blondness, his blushes, his star¬ tled smile. How long they would have held him there in the center of the ring while they admired and teased him, there is no telling; but suddenly the orchestra brought relief by striking up a fox¬ trot.

“He’s mine!” cried a pretty black-eyed girl with a cloud of bobbed hair and flaming cheeks. Her slender shoulders were bare; her round white arms waved in excited, graceful gestures; her corn-colored frock was a gauzy mist. She clutched Hugh’s arm.

“He’s mine,” she repeated shrilly. “He’s going to dance with me.”

Hugh’s cheeks burned a deeper scarlet. “My clothes,” he muttered, hesitating. “Your clothes! My dear, you look sweet. Take off your cap and dance with me.”

Hugh snatched off his cap, his mind reeling with shame, but he had no time to think. The girl pulled him through the crowd to a clear floor. Almost mechanically, Hugh put his arm around her and began to dance. He could dance, and the girl had sense enough not to talk. She floated in his arm, her slender body close to his. When the music ceased, she clapped her little hands excitedly and told Hugh that he danced “won-der-ful-ly.” After the third encore she led him to a dark corner in the hall.

“You ’re sweet, honey,” she said softly. She