But soon he became aware of glances, hostile, disapproving. Probably it was true that only a few of the men at first knew who Dora was, but they told other men, and some of the men told the women. Soon it was known to all that he had brought “one of those awful eating house girls” to the dance! The enormity of the mistake he had made was borne in upon him gradually. Some of the men he knew smiled at him, generally with an eye-brow raised, or with a shake of the head. Sidney Felberg, who was a real friend, took him aside. “For the love of God, Ramon, what did you bring that Flusey here for? You’re queering yourself at a mile a minute. And you’re drunk, too. For Heaven’s sake, cart her away while the going’s good!” Ramon had not realized how drunk he was until he heard this warning. “O, go to hell, Sid!” he countered. “She’s as good as anybody … I guess I can bring anybody I want here.…” Sidney shook his head. “No use, no use,” he observed philosophically. “But it’s too bad!” Ramon’s own words sounded hollow to him. He was in that peculiar condition when a man knows that he is making an ass of himself, and knows that he is going right ahead doing it. He was more attentive to Dora than ever. He brought her a glass of water, talked to her continually with his back to the hostile room. He was fully capable of carrying the thing through, even though girls he had known all his life were refusing to meet his eyes. It was Dora who weakened. She became quiet and sad, and looked infinitely forlorn. When a couple of women got up and moved pointedly away from her vicinity, her lip began to tremble, and her wide blue eyes were brimming. “Come on, take me away quick,” she said pathetically. “I’m going to cry.” When they were in the car again she turned in the seat, buried her face in her arms and sobbed passionately with a gulping noise and spasmodic upheavals of her shoulders. Ramon drove slowly. He was sober now, painfully sober! He was utterly disgusted with himself, and bitterly sorry for Dora. A strong bond of sympathy had suddenly been created between them, for he too had tasted the bitterness of prejudice. For the first time Dora was not merely a frumpy woman who had provoked in him a desire he half-despised; she was a fellow human, who knew the same miseries.… He had intended to take her this night, to make a great play for success, but he no longer felt that way. He drove to the boarding house where she lived. “Here you are,” he said gently, “I’ll call you up tomorrow.” Dora looked up for the first time. “O, no!” she plead. “Don’t go off and leave me now. Don’t leave me alone. Take me somewhere, anywhere.… Do anything you want with me.… You’re all I’ve got!” CHAPTER XXXI