definite as if she spoke them aloud, though they seemed more like
words spoken to her by some unknown person within her: "There!
That's exactly the kind of looking man I'd like to marry!"

In the eyes of the restless and the longing, Providence often
appears to be worse than inscrutable: an unreliable Omnipotence
given to haphazard whimsies in dealing with its own creatures,
choosing at random some among them to be rent with tragic
deprivations and others to be petted with blessing upon blessing.

In Alice's eyes, Mildred had been blessed enough; something ought
to be left over, by this time, for another girl. The final touch
to the heaping perfection of Christmas-in-everything for Mildred
was that this Mr. Arthur Russell, good-looking, kind-looking,
graceful, the perfect fiance, should be also "VERY well off." Of
course! These rich always married one another. And while the
Mildreds danced with their Arthur Russells the best an outsider
could do for herself was to sit with Frank Dowling--the one last
course left her that was better than dancing with him.

"Well, what DO you want to talk about?" he inquired.

"Nothing," she said. "Suppose we just sit, Frank." But a moment
later she remembered something, and, with a sudden animation,
began to prattle. She pointed to the musicians down the
corridor. "Oh, look at them! Look at the leader! Aren't they
FUNNY? Someone told me they're called 'Jazz Louie and his
half-breed bunch.' Isn't that just crazy? Don't you love it? Do
watch them, Frank."