This is good enough for me;" and he swung his arms around and gave a little whoop like an excited rowdy.
A deep crimson dyed for a moment the face of Blanche.

In a moment afterward it was pale as ashes.

Whitford saw the death-like change, and it partially roused him to a sense of his condition.
"Of course I'll go to the library if your heart's set on it," he said, drawing her arm in his and taking her out of the room with a kind of flourish.

Many eyes turned on them.

In some was surprise, in some merriment and in some sorrow and pain.
"Now for the books," he cried as he placed Blanche in a large chair at the library-table.