Come, look at this,"-- thrusting a programme into his face,--"and stop staring.

Why, boy, she has bewitched you,--or inspired you,"-- surveying him sharply.
And indeed it would seem so.

Eyes, mouth, face, instinct with some subtle and thrilling emotion.

As gay Tom Russell looked, he involuntarily stretched out his hand, as one would put it between another and some danger of which that other is unaware, and remembered what he had once said in talking of him,--"If Will Surrey's time does come, I hope the girl will be all right in every way, for he'll plunge headlong, and love like distraction itself,--no half-way; it will be a life-and-death affair for him." "Come, I must break in on this." "Surrey!" "Yes." "There's a pretty girl." No answer.
"There! over yonder.

Third seat, second row.