Her eyes, beaming with secret fun, were averted from intruders, but sometimes, when couples approached, seeking possession of the nook, her thoughts about the absentee appeared to threaten her with outright laughter; and though one or two girls looked at her skeptically, as they turned away, their escorts felt no such doubts, and merely wondered what importantly funny affair Alice Adams was engaged in.

She had learned to do it perfectly.
She had learned it during the last two years; she was twenty when for the first time she had the shock of finding herself without an applicant for one of her dances.

When she was sixteen "all the nice boys in town," as her mother said, crowded the Adamses' small veranda and steps, or sat near by, cross-legged on the lawn, on summer evenings; and at eighteen she had replaced the boys with "the older men." By this time most of "the other girls," her contemporaries, were away at school or college, and when they came home to stay, they "came out"-- that feeble revival of an ancient custom offering the maiden to the ceremonial inspection of the tribe.

Alice neither went away nor "came out," and, in contrast with those who did, she may have seemed to lack freshness of lustre--jewels are richest when revealed all new in a white velvet box.

And Alice may have been too eager to secure new retainers, too kind in her efforts to keep the old ones.