and came to the Pinckney Street house that evening to hear the news from
the Cape. It was surprising, the interest in Cape Cod matters manifested
of late by that young man.

On a day in early April, Mary, hurrying to Mrs. Wyeth's after school,
found a letter awaiting her. She glanced at the postmark, which was
South Harniss, and the handwriting, which was Isaiah's, and then laid it
aside to be read later on at her leisure. After many postponements and
with considerable reluctance she had accepted an invitation to dine with
Barbara Howe at the latter's home in Brookline and this evening was the
time appointed. It would be her first plunge into society--the home
life of society, that is. The Howes were an old family, wealthy and
well-connected, and Mary could not help feeling somewhat nervous at
the ordeal before her. She knew something of the number and variety
of expensive gowns possessed by her young hostess and her own limited
wardrobe seemed doubly limited and plain by comparison. But she summoned
her unfailing common sense to her rescue and found consolation in the
fact that Barbara and her people knew she was, comparatively speaking,
a poor girl, and therefore could hardly have invited her with the
expectation of seeing her arrayed in fine clothes. And if they had done
so--here was a bit of the old Mary-'Gusta philosophy--their opinion
was not worth consideration anyhow, and the sooner they and she reached
mutual disgust and parting the better.

But although her best gown was not new nor expensive, and her jewels
were conspicuous by their absence, the picture she made as she stood
before the mirror giving the last touches to her hair was distinctly not
an unpleasing one. Maggie, the maid, who entered the room to announce a
caller, was extravagant in her praises.