Olive Higgins Prouty

“ She mustn't let such thoughts possess her. She tried to stifle them. He, too—Reba's partner too, out of his reverence for anything so soft and white-handed, so wistful-eyed, so gentle-voiced, so crisply ruffled, pink-sashed, as this feminine creature before him—he, too, tried to keep his thoughts from desecrating so much as the tips of her fingers.
He stayed until the music played "Home, Sweet Home" in the Assembly-hall. They were the only ones left in the parlor when one of the Alliance's hostesses thrust a head in at the door and sang out cheerfully, "Time for everybody to say good-night." ”

“ As "Number four" folded up to sit down in the chair beside Reba, he was very careful not to allow his rough coat to as much as brush one of her snowy ruffles. Afterward he produced a brand new handkerchief—white, with a dark blue polka-dotted border—and wiped the perspiration that threatened to become running torrents in a moment, from his brow.
"There are a great many people here, aren't there?" said Reba brightly.
"There appear to be, miss," her partner murmured, clumsily groping for his coat pocket, and finally shoving his handkerchief out of sight in it. ”

“ Reba told him.
Suddenly somebody struck a chord on the piano, and Miss Park announced that the blues and yellows would dance first. There was a rush for the floor. Reba and her partner, however, sat quite still in their places. Then shyly, "Do you dance?" inquired Reba.
"Oh, no. No. I don't." He seemed alarmed. "I don't know how to do any of those things. You go on, and leave me. I don't mind," he urged.
"Oh, I don't care about dancing," Reba cheerfully denied. "We can watch instead." ”