He would have said more, but the
words stuck in his throat.
"Can we sit down somewhere?" she said. "I want to talk to you."
There were one or two chairs placed behind a red drugget curtain,
where adventurous spirits led their partners later in the evening.
They found a place there, and the young man recovered his power of
speech.
"Not glad to see you!" he exclaimed almost vehemently. "Why, what else
do you suppose I come here for every Thursday evening? I never dance;
they all make game of me because they know I come here on the chance
of seeing you again. I'm a fool! I know that! You just amuse yourself
here with me, and then you go away, back to your friends--and forget!
And I hang about round here, like the silly ass that I am!"
"My dear--George!"
The young man blushed at the sound of his Christian name. He was
mollified despite himself.
"I suppose it's got to be the same thing all over again," he declared
resignedly. "You'll talk to me and let me be near you--and make a fool
of me all round; and then you'll go away, and heaven knows when I'll
see you again. You won't let me take you home, and won't tell me where
you live, or who your friends are. You do treat me precious badly,
Miss Violet."
"This time," she said quietly, "it will not be the same. I have
something quite serious to say to you."
"Something serious--you? Go on!" he exclaimed in excitement.
"Have you found another place yet?"
"No.
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