"I hope you can come." My tone was but feebly urging. "Everybody
has such a good time at Kitty's. I hope, too, you are going to like
our city." I looked from mother to daughter as I uttered the usual
formulas for strangers. "This is not your first visit?"

"Oh no--we've been here several times before. We like it very much.
It's so distinguay and all that." Mrs. Swink's hands went to her
head and she patted her transformation, but failed to straighten it.
"I was born in Alabama, and Mr. Swink in Missouri, and Madeleine in
Texas, so we feel kin to all Southerners and at home anywhere in the
South; but I like this city best of any in it. Some day, I reckon,
we'll live here." Her voice was significant and again she looked at
her daughter, but her daughter did not look at her.

"We think it a very nice city, but I suppose I'd love any place in
which I had to live. That is, I'd try to. You have old friends
here, I believe, and of course you'll make new ones." My voice was
even less affirmative than interrogatory. I hardly knew what I was
saying. I was thinking of something else.

"Yes, indeed. That's what we expect to do. We don't know a great
many people here. Mrs. Hadden Cressy and I are old friends, but we
don't see much of each other. I suppose you know the Cressys?"

"I know of them very well. They are among our most valuable people.
I have often wanted to know Mr. and Mrs. Cressy. Their son, Tom, I
used to see often as a boy, but of late I rarely come across him.
What's become of him? He was one of the nicest boys I ever knew."

Mrs. Swink's hands made expressive gesture, but the girl at the