"I don't see how he could possibly expect to dine with us," Barry said,
hotly. "You don't know anything about him, Mary. And I agree with
Porter--a man's bank reference isn't sufficient for social recognition.
And anyhow he may not have the right kind of clothes."

"We are to have dinner at three o'clock," she said, "just as mother
always had it on Thanksgiving Day. If you don't want me to ask Roger
Poole, I won't. But I think you are an awful snob, Barry."

Her eyes were blazing.

"Now what have I done to deserve that?" her brother demanded.

"You haven't treated him civilly," Mary said. "In a sense he's a guest
in our house, and you haven't been up to his rooms since he came--and
he's a gentleman."

"How do you know?"

"Because I do."

"Yet the other day you hinted that Delilah Jeliffe wasn't a lady, not in
your sense of the word--and that I couldn't see the difference because
was a man. I'll let you have your opinion of Delilah Jeliffe if you'll
let me have mine of Roger Poole."

So Mary compromised by having Roger down for the evening. "We shall be
just a family party for dinner," she said. "But later, we are asking
some others for candle-lighting time. We want everybody to come prepared