was rather simple and wistful and nice--he read it to us, though Edith
tried to stop him. She was modest about it, and said she'd never
written anything else. And then, after a while, Mrs. Roscoe Sheridan
asked me to come across the street to her house with them--her husband
and Edith and Mr. Lamhorn and Jim Sheridan--"

Mrs. Vertrees was shocked. "'Jim'!" she exclaimed. "Mary, PLEASE--"

"Of course," said Mary. "I'll make it as easy for you as I can,
mamma. Mr. James Sheridan, Junior. We went over there, and Mrs.
Roscoe explained that 'the men were all dying for a drink,' though
I noticed that Mr. Lamhorn was the only one near death's door on that
account. Edith and Mrs. Roscoe said they knew I'd been bored at the
dinner. They were objectionably apologetic about it, and they seemed
to think NOW we were going to have a 'good time' to make up for it.
But I hadn't been bored at the dinner, I'd been amused; and the 'good
time' at Mrs. Roscoe's was horribly, horribly stupid."

"But, Mary," her mother began, "is--is--" And she seemed unable to
complete the question.

"Never mind, mamma. I'll say it. Is Mr. James Sheridan, Junior,
stupid? I'm sure he's not at all stupid about business. Otherwise
--Oh, what right have I to be calling people 'stupid' because they're
not exactly my kind? On the big dinner-table they had enormous icing
models of the Sheridan Building--"

"Oh, no!" Mrs. Vertrees cried. "Surely not!"

"Yes, and two other things of that kind--I don't know what. But,