piqued she also felt elated, for she had captured one of the best-looking men in the hall.
Bumping through the crowd, Floyd bumped eventually against Hugh Farrell, who had the same partner as at the former dance, the girl with the pronounced cherry color on lips and cheeks, the silent girl who chewed gum. "Hello!" cried Farrell genially. Floyd looked coolly at him and did not answer. Farrell steered close alongside. "Hello!" he said; and then as Floyd still did not answer, his voice became stern. "I'm speakin' to you," he said. Floyd drew his partner away, and getting over to the other side of the room, stopped.
"That will do for me, thank you," he said; and he abandoned her as abruptly as he had come. He went to the head of the stairs and leaned against the wall.
If his mood had suddenly become virtuous, it was still ugly. He kept his eyes fastened on Farrell and his partner. At the end of the dance they sat down on one of the benches across the room; Farrell threw one arm carelessly over her shoulders, and she nestled up to him and chewed her gum in the serenity of being possessed. Floyd stood looking at them; his vindictive, chastising rage on behalf of virtue simmered harmlessly away, and in its place came the wish to help rather than to punish a friend. He walked across the room unsteadily, conscious and ashamed of his unsteadiness, and as he stood bending down in front of Hugh Farrell, he swayed a little from side to side.
"Hugh Farrell," he said, "I—I did n't answer you. I want to beg your pardon." He put out his hand and leaned on Farrell's shoulder, and then continued, murmuring in his ear, "You—you see how it is—how it is with me. I beg your pardon."
"Oh, sure," said Farrell good-naturedly, reaching up and gripping his hand. "I know how it is, old man; that's all right."
"Thanks. Hugh Farrell, I want just a few minutes'
