Mr. ¬ÝTeerswell, compelled to listen, laughed drily.
“Plantation melodies, I suppose, are more your specialty,” he said with a slight cadence.
“Yes,” said Bles simply. A slight pause ensued.
Then came the surprise of the evening for Bles Alwyn. Even his inexperienced eye could discern that Miss Wynn was very popular, and that most of the men were rivals for her attentions.
‚Äú Mr. ¬ÝAlwyn,‚Äù she said graciously, rising. ‚ÄúI‚Äôm going to trouble you to see me to my door; it‚Äôs only a block. Good night, all!‚Äù she called, but she bowed to Mr. ¬ÝTeerswell.
Miss Wynn placed her hand lightly on Bles’s arm, and for a moment he paused. A thrill ran through him as he felt again the weight of a little hand and saw beside him the dark beautiful eyes of a girl. He felt again the warm quiver of her body. Then he awoke to the lighted church and the moving, well-dressed throng. The hand on his arm was not so small; but it was well-gloved, and somehow the fancy struck him that it was a cold hand and not always sympathetic in its touch.