down, and the porches--"

"But, Jeanette," said Barry Valentine patiently, "don't you keep
this house clean enough ordinarily without these orgies of cleaning
the minute anybody comes in? I never knew such a house for women to
open windows, and tie up curtains, and put towels over their hair,
and run around with buckets of cold suds. Why this extra fuss?"

"Well, it's not all cleaning," said Mrs. Carew, a little annoyed.
"It's largely supper; and I'm not giving anything LIKE the suppers
Mrs. White and Mrs. Adams give."

"Why don't they eat at home?" said Mr. Valentine hospitably. "What
do they come for anyway? To see the house or each other's clothes,
or to eat? Women are funny at a card party," he went on, always
ready to expand an argument comfortably. "It takes them an hour to
settle down and see how everyone else looks, and whether there
happens to be a streak of dust under the piano; and then when the
game is just well started, a maid is nudging you in the elbow to
take a plate of hot chicken, and another, on the other side, is
holding out sandwiches, and all the women are running to look at the
prizes. Now when men play cards--

"Oh, Barry, don't get started!" his cousin impatiently implored.
"I'm too tired to listen. Come out and fix the table."

"Wish I could really help you," said Barry, as they crossed the
hall; and as a further attempt to soothe her ruffled feelings, he
added amiably, "The place looks fine. The buttercups came up, didn't
they?"