It's sure enough spring outside. I been eating it up, and—we can do our talking over things at the dance. Let's ride now.”
“Dance?”
“Sure, down to Singer's place.”
“It's going to be kind of hard to get out of going with Blondy. He asked me.”
“And you said you'd go?”
“What are you flarin' up about?”
“Look here, how long have you been traipsin' around with Blondy Hansen?”
She clenched one hand beside her in a way he knew, but it pleased him more than it warned him, just as it pleased him to see the ears of Grey Molly go back.
“What's wrong about Blondy Hansen?”
“What's right about him?” he countered senselessly.
Her voice went a bit shrill. “Blondy is a gentleman, I'll have you know.”
“Is he?”
“Don't you sneer at me, Victor Gregg. I won't have it!”
“You won't, eh?”
He felt that he was pushing her to the danger point, but she was perfectly, satisfyingly beautiful in her anger; he taunted her with the pleasure of an artist painting a picture.
“I won't!” she repeated. Something else came to her lips, but she repressed it, and he could see the pressure from within telling.
