But I did not try to convince her; there were other things more important.
I went and made my bow to Mrs.Loroman, and answered sundry questions--more conventional, I may say, than were those of her daughter.
Mrs.Loroman was one of the best type of society dames, and I will own that I was a bit surprised to find that she was Beryl King's aunt.

In spite of that indefinable little air of breeding that I had felt in my two meetings with Miss King, I had thought of her as distinctly a daughter of the range-land.
"I'll introduce you to my cousin and aunt now, if you like," Edith offered generously, in an undertone--for the two were not ten feet from us, although Miss King had not yet seen fit to know that I was in the room.
How a woman can act so deuced innocent, beats me.
Miss King lowered her chin as much as half an inch, and looked at me as if I were an exceeding commonplace, inanimate object that could not possibly interest her.

Her aunt, Lodema King, was almost as bad, I think; I didn't notice particularly.

But Miss King's I-do-not-know-you-sir air could not save her; I hadn't schemed like a villain for a week, and ridden twenty-five miles at a good fast clip after a stiff day's work, just to be presented and walk away.

I asked her for the next waltz.
"The next waltz is promised to Mr.Weaver," she told me freezingly.
I asked for the next two-step.
"The next two-step is also promised--to Mr.Weaver." I began to have unfriendly feelings toward Mr.Weaver.