"You're that Mister Fresh we hear so much about--giving introductions to parties you ain't met yourself." Wilbur Cowan blushed for Spike's _faux pas_, looking to see him slink off abashed, but there were things he had yet to learn about his friend.
"Just for that," said Spike, "I'll take this dance with you." And brazenly he encircled her waist as the music came anew.
"It's hot to-night," said Wilbur very simply to Terry Stamper and Bill Bardin as they moved off the floor to an open window.
His dancing eyes followed Beauty in the dance, and he was at her side when the music ceased.

Until it came again he fanned by an open window her flushed and lovely face.

Her name was Pearl.
"I wish this night would last forever," he murmured to her.
"Tut, tut!" said Pearl in humorous dismay, "and me having to be at business at seven A.M.!" Only then did he learn that she was not a mere social butterfly, but one of the proletariat; that, in truth, she waited on table at the Mansion.
Instantly he constructed their future together.

He would free her from that life of toil.
"You're too beautiful for work like that," he told her.
Pearl eyed him with sudden approval.
"You're all right, kid.

I often said the same thing myself, but no one's fell for it up to date." They danced, and again they danced.
"You're the nicest boy in the bunch," murmured Pearl.
"I never saw any one so beautiful," said Wilbur.
Pearl smiled graciously.