He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me. Someday I'll take you down there and have them rig up the coconut dance for you. I know faces. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. He would condemn her to the vengeance of the mob all for refusing to marry him. The rumor mills churned with the news that he harbored for her no ill will, but was simply too busy in his life to have a girlfriend that wasn’t “serious”.
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