them than that of talking about things without mentioning them.
Herein was marked the most vital difference between Mr. and Mrs.
Vertrees and their big new neighbor. Sheridan, though his youth
was of the same epoch, knew nothing of such matters. He had been
chopping wood for the morning fire in the country grocery while they
were still dancing.

It was after one o'clock when Mrs. Vertrees heard steps and the
delicate clinking of the key in the lock, and then, with the opening
of the door, Mary's laugh, and "Yes--if you aren't afraid--to-morrow!"

The door closed, and she rushed up-stairs, bringing with her a breath
of cold and bracing air into her mother's room. "Yes," she said,
before Mrs. Vertrees could speak, "he brought me home!"

She let her cloak fall upon the bed, and, drawing an old red-velvet
rocking-chair forward, sat beside her mother after giving her a light
pat upon the shoulder and a hearty kiss upon the cheek.

"Mamma!" Mary exclaimed, when Mrs. Vertrees had expressed a hope that
she had enjoyed the evening and had not caught cold. "Why don't you
ask me?"

This inquiry obviously made her mother uncomfortable. "I don't--"
she faltered. "Ask you what, Mary?"

"How I got along and what he's like."

"Mary!"