I call that a good excuse for silence.
Afterward I asked her for another, and she looked at me curiously.
"You're a very hard man to convince, Mr.Carleton," she told me, with that same queer look in her eyes.

I was beginning to get drunk--intoxicated, if you like the word better--on those same eyes; they always affected me, somehow, as if I'd never seen them before; always that same little tingle of surprise went over me when she lifted those heavy fringes of lashes.
I'm not psychologist enough to explain this, and I'm strictly no good at introspection; it was that way with me, and that will have to do.
I told her she probably would never meet another who required so much convincing, and, after wrangling over the matter politely for a minute, got her to promise me another waltz, said promise to be redeemed after supper.
I tried to talk to "Aunt Lodema," but she would have none of me, and she seemed to think I had more than my share of effrontery to attempt such a thing.

Mrs.Loroman was better, and I filled in fifteen minutes or so very pleasantly with her.

After that I went over to Edith and got her to sit out a dance with me.
The first thing she asked me was about Frosty.

Who was he?
and why was he here?
and how long had he been here?
I told her all I knew about him, and then turned frank and asked her why she wanted to know.
"Mama hasn't recognized him--yet," she said confidentially, "but I was sure he was the same.