Linda wondered what she meant by the last phrase. How could it make
Mr. Jasper conceited to give her a gold piece? However, she decided
that she had better not ask.

It was like that with a great many of her mother's mysterious
remarks--Linda had an instinctive feeling of drawing away. The other
kissed her warmly and left a print of vivid red on her cheek.

She examined the mark in the mirror when her mother had gone; it
was, she decided, the kiss made visible. Then she laid away the
things scattered about the room by Mrs. Condon's hasty dressing. Her
own belongings were always in precise order.

A sudden hesitation seized her at the thought of going down to the
crowd at the music. The women made her uncomfortable. It wasn't what
they said, but the way they said it; and the endless questions
wearied her. She was, as well, continually bothered by her inability
to impress upon them how splendid her mother was. Some of them she
was certain did not appreciate her. Mrs. Condon at once admitted and
was entertained by this, but it disturbed Linda. However, she
understood the reason--when any nice men came along they always
liked her mother best. This made the women mad.

The world, she gathered, was a place where women played a game of
men with each other. It was very difficult, she couldn't comprehend
the rules or reason; and Linda was afraid that she would be
unsuccessful and never have the perfect time her mother wanted for
her. In the first place, she was too thin, and then she knew that
she could never talk like her dearest. Perhaps when she had had some
wine it would be different.