Even yet there was no concerted action, but sentiment was crystallizing.  Homer and Yvette danced three dances, and Homer’s face began to wear a scowl.  No less than five young men approached by him with the purpose of securing them as partners for Yvette declined with brevity.

“What’s the matter with you??” he demanded, belligerently.  “There hain’t no pertier girl nor no better dancer on the floor.”

“Mebby so.  Hain’t noticed.  Got all my dances took.”

“Me too.  My girl she says—­”

“She says what?” snapped Homer.

“She says she’ll go home if I dance with yourn.”

“And I say,” said Homer, with set jaw, “that you fellers is goin’ to dance with Yvette, or there’s goin’ to be more fights in Coldriver ’n Coldriver ever see before.  That’s my say.”

He announced he would be back after the next dance, and that somebody would dance with Yvette.  “The feller that refuses,” said he, “goes outside with me.”

He went back to Yvette, who, not lacking in shrewdness, sensed something of the situation.

“I wish I hadn’t come,” she said, uneasily.

“I don’t ... if you hain’t got no objection to dancin’ jest with me.”

“It’ll look queer if I dance all of them with you.”

“Jest ask me, and see if I care,” he said, desperately.  “It’s like I’d want to have it.  I couldn’t never dance more’n I want to with you.  I wisht I could dance all the dances there’ll be in your life with you....  Come on.  This here’s a quadrille.”

Pliny Pickett, self-appointed caller of square dances, was arranging the floor.  “One more couple wanted to this end,” he bellowed.  “Here’s two couples a-waitin’.  Don’t hang back.  Music’s a-waitin’....  Right there.  All ready?...  Nope.  One couple needed in the middle.”

Homer and Yvette approached that square where three couples awaited the fourth to complete their set.  They took their places, to the manifest embarrassment of the other six.  Suddenly Norma Grainger whispered something to her young man and tugged at his arm.  He looked sidewise, sheepishly, at Homer, and hung back.

“You come right along,” said Norma.  “I hain’t goin’ to have it said of me that I danced in no set with her.”

“Nor me,” said Marion Towne, also tugging at her escort.

The young men were forced to give way, and, not too proud to cast glances of placating nature at Homer, they fell from their places and walked to the benches around the hall.  Yvette and Homer were left standing alone, conspicuous, the center of all eyes.

Homer clenched his fists and glared about him; then—­for in his ungainly body there resided something that is essential to manhood, and without which none may be called a gentleman—­he offered his arm to Yvette.  “I guess we better go,” he said, softly.  Then squaring his powerful shoulders and glancing about him with a real dignity which Scattergood Baines, sitting in one corner, noted and applauded, he led the girl from the room.