stream of outrageous talk. She was celebrated for it--and for nothing
else.

Geraldine, bewildered and a little horrified, looked at her billowy,
bediamonded hostess, then at young Delancy Grandcourt, who, not
perceptibly abashed by his mother's left-handed compliments, lounged
beside her, apparently on the verge of a yawn.

"My mother says things," he explained patiently; "nobody minds 'em....
Shall we exchange nonsense--or would you rather save yourself until
dinner?"

"Save myself what?" she asked nervously.

"The nuisance of talking to me about nothing. I'm not clever."

Geraldine reddened.

"I don't usually talk about nothing."

"I do," he said. "I never have much to say."

"Is that because you don't like débutantes?" she asked coldly.

"It's because they don't care about me.... If you would talk to me, I'd
really be grateful."

He flushed and stepped back awkwardly to allow room for a slim, handsome
man to pass between them. The very ornamental man did not pass, however,
but calmly turned toward Geraldine, and began to talk to her.