So blond was he that she was reminded of stage-types she had
seen, such as Ole Olson and Yon Yonson; but there resemblance
ceased. It was a matter of color only, for the eyes were
dark-lashed and -browed, and were cloudy with temperament rather
than staring a child-gaze of wonder, and the suit of smooth brown
cloth had been made by a tailor. Saxon appraised the suit on the
instant, and her secret judgment was NOT A CENT LESS THAN FIFTY
DOLLARS. Further, he had none of the awkwardness of the
Scandinavian immigrant. On the contrary, he was one of those rare
individuals that radiate muscular grace through the ungraceful
man-garments of civilization. Every movement was supple, slow,
and apparently considered. This she did not see nor analyze. She
saw only a clothed man with grace of carriage and movement. She
felt, rather than perceived, the calm and certitude of all the
muscular play of him, and she felt, too, the promise of easement
and rest that was especially grateful and craved-for by one who
had incessantly, for six days and at top-speed, ironed fancy
starch. As the touch of his hand had been good, so, to her, this
subtler feel of all of him, body and mind, was good.

As he took her program and skirmished and joked after the way of
young men, she realized the immediacy of delight she had taken in
him. Never in her life had she been so affected by any man. She
wondered to herself: IS THIS THE MAN?

He danced beautifully. The joy was hers that good dancers take
when they have found a good dancer for a partner. The grace of
those slow-moving, certain muscles of his accorded perfectly with
the rhythm of the music. There was never doubt, never a betrayal
of indecision. She glanced at Bert, dancing "tough" with Mary,