the way you made love to Miss Whitman was disgusting."

Tom flushed. Had he really been as bad as that? Had he really just
missed being put out of the house like that clown Stebbins? Were they
all now, all these people sitting around so innocently in groups, were
they all blasting his name as a cheap cad? "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Why, you went at it like a puling babe. Why didn't you put some fire
into it--kiss her feet or bite her neck? Then you would have made us sit
up and take notice. You college people are a lot of old women, anyway."

Tom, with bounding relief, started to confess the apparent inability of
most college people to bite ladies in the neck, when he observed a
startling change in his companion. From the passionate leprecaune of the
moment before he had become even as a little child. His hand, which was
resting elegantly on the arm chair, stole up into his chin whisker, amid
which it wistfully strayed. There crept into his Saxon eyes that light
of resigned suffering which inspires such exquisite anguish in the
friends of Black Beauty and Beautiful Joe. In short, his entire being
proclaimed to all who would but look, a great quiet man in love. Tom's
eyes followed his and rested upon--Nancy! He rose in disgust and,
walking away, suddenly came face to face with her. Then, without
thinking of his resolve to let her severely alone, he reached out his
hand and cut in.

What a fool he was! Obviously she didn't want to dance with him, and
here he was forcing himself upon her. It made him look so common, so
pushing, so like an Ephesus drygoods clerk. Some one barged into him,
surged into him, from the rear, causing him to stumble. "Sorry," he
muttered. They started on, just out of step. He tried to get into step
by speeding up, and their knees bumped together. Would no one ever cut
in? Then the music stopped, and it appeared that the musicians were
going to rest for a few minutes.

"Let's sit down, shall we?" said Nancy. They settled themselves upon two
gilt chairs with spindly legs. "Do you like your work here?" she asked
pleasantly.

What a very dull question! An expletive exploded inside Tom's head. "Oh,
yes," he said. Then after a heavy pause, "How are you getting on with
the stars?"

"Oh, I learned the diagrams in that nice little book you sent me, but
I'm afraid I've forgotten most of them now. I feel rather superior about
Betelgeuse, though."

"So do I. We might start a Betelguese Club."