The Valley of the Moon | Page 8

hands clasped and she felt the teamster callouses on his palm,
her quick eyes saw a score of things. About all that he saw was her eyes,
and then it was with a vague impression that they were blue. Not till
later in the day did he realize that they were gray. She, on the contrary,
saw his eyes as they really were--deep blue, wide, and handsome in a
sullen-boyish way. She saw that they were straight-looking, and she
liked them, as she had liked the glimpse she had caught of his hand,
and as she liked the contact of his hand itself. Then, too, but not sharply,
she had perceived the short, square-set nose, the rosiness of cheek, and
the firm, short upper lip, ere delight centered her flash of gaze on the
well-modeled, large clean mouth where red lips smiled clear of the
white, enviable teeth. A BOY, A GREAT BIG MAN-BOY, was her
thought; and, as they smiled at each other and their hands slipped apart,
she was startled by a glimpse of his hair--short and crisp and sandy,
hinting almost of palest gold save that it was too flaxen to hint of gold
at all.
So blond was he that she was reminded of stage-types she had seen,
such as Ole Olson and Yon Yonson; but there resemblance ceased. It
was a matter of color only, for the eyes were dark-lashed and -browed,
and were cloudy with temperament rather than staring a child-gaze of
wonder, and the suit of smooth brown cloth had been made by a tailor.
Saxon appraised the suit on the instant, and her secret judgment was
NOT A CENT LESS THAN FIFTY DOLLARS. Further, he had none
of the awkwardness of the Scandinavian immigrant. On the contrary, he
was one of those rare individuals that radiate muscular grace through
the ungraceful man-garments of civilization. Every movement was
supple, slow, and apparently considered. This she did not see nor
analyze. She saw only a clothed man with grace of carriage and
movement. She felt, rather than perceived, the calm and certitude of all
the muscular play of him, and she felt, too, the promise of easement
and rest that was especially grateful and craved-for by one who had
incessantly, for six days and at top-speed, ironed fancy starch. As the
touch of his hand had been good, so, to her, this subtler feel of all of
him, body and mind, was good.
As he took her program and skirmished and joked after the way of

young men, she realized the immediacy of delight she had taken in him.
Never in her life had she been so affected by any man. She wondered to
herself: IS THIS THE MAN?
He danced beautifully. The joy was hers that good dancers take when
they have found a good dancer for a partner. The grace of those
slow-moving, certain muscles of his accorded perfectly with the rhythm
of the music. There was never doubt, never a betrayal of indecision.
She glanced at Bert, dancing "tough" with Mary, caroming down the
long floor with more than one collision with the increasing couples.
Graceful himself in his slender, tall, lean-stomached way, Bert was
accounted a good dancer; yet Saxon did not remember ever having
danced with him with keen pleasure. Just a hit of a jerk spoiled his
dancing--a jerk that did not occur, usually, but that always impended.
There was something spasmodic in his mind. He was too quick, or he
continually threatened to be too quick. He always seemed just on the
verge of overrunning the time. It was disquieting. He made for unrest.
"You're a dream of a dancer," Billy Roberts was saying. "I've heard lots
of the fellows talk about your dancing."
"I love it," she answered.
But from the way she said it he sensed her reluctance to speak, and
danced on in silence, while she warmed with the appreciation of a
woman for gentle consideration. Gentle consideration was a thing
rarely encountered in the life she lived. IS THIS THE MAN? She
remembered Mary's "I'd marry him to-morrow," and caught herself
speculating on marrying Billy Roberts by the next day--if he asked her.
With eyes that dreamily desired to close, she moved on in the arms of
this masterful, guiding pressure. A PRIZE-FIGHTER! She experienced
a thrill of wickedness as she thought of what Sarah would say could she
see her now. Only he wasn't a prizefighter, but a teamster.
Came an abrupt lengthening of step, the guiding pressure grew more
compelling, and she was caught up and carried along, though her
velvet-shod feet never left the floor. Then came the sudden control

down to the shorter step again, and she felt herself being held slightly
from him so that he might look into her