"I must say those two—er—fellows had their nerve with them!" he observed, in a low tone. "It took a crust for them to stop and speak to you here. I—I felt like punching their heads!"
"I am very glad you did not permit your feelings to master you," she said, with a faint laugh. "I met Larry Stark last year, and I was glad to see him at church to-day. He introduced Mr. Locke, the new pitcher."
"Oh, I saw it all," Bent half growled. "I was standing out here in the vestibule, where I could look inside, and I saw them time their movements to meet you."
"Oh, pshaw! You must be mistaken."
"I'm not—begging your pardon, Janet. I say it was a sheer case of nerve for two hired ball players to do a thing like that. I saw people staring as you were talking to them. I don't wonder you were embarrassed."
"Embarrassed! You must be mistaken, Benton."
"Of course you were embarrassed—you blushed like fire. It was humiliating to be compelled to acknowledge an introduction to a common scrapper like that man Locke."
"I assure you that I did not feel at all humiliated," she returned, with a touch of defiance.
