"But I must interrupt formality long enough to present my most respectful
compliments to Miss Corson, even walking right past you, Governor North,
to do so!" explained Stewart, marching toward Lana, smiling down on her.

Their brief exchange of social commonplaces was perfunctory enough, their
manner suggested nothing to a casual observer; but Miss Bunker was not a
casual observer. "She's ashamed," was her mental conviction. "Her eyes
give her away. She don't look up at him like a girl can look at any man
when there's nothing on her conscience. Whatever it was that happened,
she's the one who's to blame--but if she can't be sorry it doesn't excuse
her because she's ashamed."

Possibly Miss Corson was covering embarrassment with the jaunty
grandiloquence that she displayed.

"I have dared to intrude among the mighty of the state and city, Mister
Mayor, in order to impress upon you by word of mouth that your invitation
to the reception at our home this evening isn't merely an invitation
extended to the chief executive of the city. It's for Stewart Morrison
himself," ran her little speech.

"I hoped so. This word from you certifies it. And Stewart Morrison will
strive to behave just as politely as he used to behave at other parties of
Lana Corson's when he steeled his heart against a second helping of cake
and cream."

She forestalled her father. "Allow me to make you acquainted with Coventry
Daunt, Stewart."