or some other of her literary pieces.

Therefore, it was almost a shock to her that the affair was so informal,
and that the company seemed chiefly occupied in behaving gayly--in
making sallies at each other's expense, which were greeted with
merriment. They seemed to her like a lot of children let loose from
school. There were no exercises, and no allusion was made to the
attainments of the various guests beyond an occasional word of
introduction by Pauline or Wilbur; and this word was apt to be of
serio-comic import. Selma realized that among the fifteen people present
there were representatives of various interesting crafts--writers,
artists, a magazine editor, two critics of the stage, a prominent
musician, and a college professor--but none of them seemed to her to act
a part or to have their accomplishments in evidence, as she would have
liked. Every one was very cordial to her, and appeared desirous to
recognize her as a permanent member of their circle, but she could not
help feeling disappointed at the absence of ceremony and formal events.
There was no president or secretary, and presently the party went into
the dining-room and sat around a table, at either end of which Pauline
and Wilbur presided over a blazer. Interest centred on the preparation
of a rabbit and creamed oysters, and pleasant badinage flew from tongue
to tongue. Selma found herself between the magazine editor and a large,
powerfully built man with a broad, rotund, strong face, who was
introduced to her as Dr. Page, and who was called George by every one
else. He had arrived late, just as they were going in to supper, and his
appearance had been greeted with a murmur of satisfaction. He had placed
himself between Pauline and her, and he showed himself, to Selma's
thinking, one of the least dignified of the company.

"My dear Mrs. Littleton," he said, with a counterfeit of great gravity,