None of the details escaped
Florrie's eyes . . . he called her "Fluff" now and she nicknamed him
"Black Bill" . . . and she never failed to refer to them mockingly.
"They tell me, Black Bill," she said innocently, "that you fell off
your horse yesterday. I was so _sorry_."
She had offered her sympathy during a lull in the conversation, drawing
the attention of her father, mother, and Virginia to Elmer, whose face
reddened promptly.
"Florrie!" chided Mrs. Engle, hiding the twinkle in her own eyes.
"Oh, her," said Elmer with a wave of the hand. "I don't mind what
Fluff says. She's just trying to kid me."
Toward the end of the evening, having been thoughtful for ten minutes,
Elmer adopted Florrie's tactics and remarked suddenly and in a voice to
be heard much farther than his needed to carry:
"Say, Fluff. Saw an old friend of yours the other day." And when
Florrie, "gun-shy" as Elmer called her, was too wise to ask any
questions, he hastened on: "Juanito Miranda it was. Sent his best. So
did Mrs. Juanito."
Whereupon it was Florrie's turn to turn a scarlet of mortification and
anger. For Juanito had soft black eyes and almost equally soft black
mustaches, with probably a heart to match, and only a year ago Florrie
had been busied making a hero of him when he, the blind one, took unto
himself an Indian bride and in all innocence heaped shame high upon the
blonde head.
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