"What was?" Miss Morgan asked.

"That queer-looking duck waving his hand at me like that. Except he's
the Sharon girls' uncle I don't know him from Adam."

"You don't need to," she said. "He wasn't waving his hand to you: he
meant me."

"Oh, he did?" George was not mollified by the explanation.
"Everybody seems to mean you! You certainly do seem to've been pretty
busy this week you've been here!"

She pressed her bouquet to her face again, and laughed into it, not
displeased. She made no other comment, and for another period neither
spoke. Meanwhile the music stopped; loud applause insisted upon its
renewal; an encore was danced; there was an interlude of voices; and
the changing of partners began.

"Well," said George finally, "I must say you don't seem to be much of
a prattler. They say it's a great way to get a reputation for being
wise, never saying much. Don't you ever talk any?"

"When people can understand," she answered.

He had been looking moodily out at the ballroom but he turned to her
quickly, at this, saw that her eyes were sunny and content, over the
top of her bouquet; and he consented to smile.

"Girls are usually pretty fresh!" he said. "They ought to go to a
man's college about a year: they'd get taught a few things about