"I'm afraid of him, Russ," she whispered. "You frightened me worse
though. You didn't mean to--to--"
"I made a bluff. Saw he'd been drinking, so I kept near you."
"You return good for evil," she replied, squeezing my arm. "Russ, let me
tell you--whenever anything frightens me since we got here I think of
you. If you're only near I feel safe."
We paused at the door leading into the big parlor. Couples were passing.
Here I could scarcely distinguish the last words she said. She stood
before me, eyes downcast, face flushed, as sweet and pretty a lass as
man could want to see, and with her hand she twisted round and round a
silver button on my buckskin vest.
"Dance with me, the rest of this," she said. "George shooed away my
partner. I'm glad for the chance. Dance with me, Russ--not gallantly or
dutifully because I ask you, but because you _want_ to. Else not at
all."
There was a limit to my endurance. There would hardly be another evening
like this, at least, for me, in that country. I capitulated with what
grace I could express.
We went into the parlor, and as we joined the dancers, despite all that
confusion I heard her whisper: "I've been a little beast to you.
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