She was almost in tears.
Lane took her arm, making her start.
"Well, kids, you're having some time, aren't you," he said, cheerfully.
"Sure--are," gulped Harry.
Lorna repressed her grief, but not her sullen resentment.
Lane pretended not to notice anything unusual, and after a few casual remarks and queries he left them.

Strolling from place to place, mingling with the gay groups, in the more secluded alcoves and recesses where couples appeared, oblivious to eyes, in the check room where a sign read: "check your corsets," out in the wide landing where the stairway came up, Lane passed, missing little that might have been seen or heard.

He did not mind that two of the chaperones stared at him in supercilious curiosity, as if speculating on a possible _faux pas_ of his at this dance.

Both boys and girls he had met since his return to Middleville, and some he had known before, encountered him face to face, and cut him dead.

He heard sarcastic remarks.