Suddenly she felt that the violets betrayed her; that any one who
looked at them could see how rustic, how innocent of any
florist's craft they were "I can't eat dead violets," Walter
said. The little wild flowers, dying indeed in the warm air,
were drooping in a forlorn mass; and it seemed to her that
whoever noticed them would guess that she had picked them
herself. She decided to get rid of them.

Walter was becoming restive. "Look here!" he said. "Can't you
flag one o' these long-tailed birds to take you on for the next
dance? You came to have a good time; why don't you get busy and
have it? I want to get out and smoke."

"You MUSTN'T leave me, Walter," she whispered, hastily.
"Somebody'll come for me before long, but until they do----"

"Well, couldn't you sit somewhere?"

"No, no! There isn't any one I could sit with."

"Well, why not? Look at those ole dames in the corners. What's
the matter your tyin' up with some o' them for a while?"

"PLEASE, Walter; no!"

In fact, that indomitable smile of hers was the more difficult to
maintain because of these very elders to whom Walter referred.
They were mothers of girls among the dancers, and they were there
to fend and contrive for their offspring; to keep them in
countenance through any trial; to lend them diplomacy in the