"At a Mrs. Green's. Perfectly horrid, my dear."
Gwen smiled, but made no comment, then she presented her two escorts and proposed that they all walk home together. "I'll show you where we live," she said to Miss Fuller. "We think it is an ideal spot."
"But what do you find to do?"
"A thousand things. The days are all too short for all we want to do."
"Oh, I forgot that you are the romantic kind who likes scenery and poetry and such things." She turned to Mr. Mitchell. "She takes things too seriously. Now I am a regular butterfly."
"Really?" Mr. Mitchell wasn't sure that he approved entirely of butterflies. "But you know," he went on, "we don't find Miss Whitridge so very serious."
"Oh, don't you? Well, I don't mean that she never laughs. She is really very full of fun sometimes, but she isn't the frivolous creature I am."
Kenneth Hilary, who had gone on to get the mail, now returned with his hands full of letters. "Two for you, Miss Whitridge," he said, "one for your aunt, and some papers. Mr. Mitchell, these are yours, I believe. The rest go our way."
Gwen tucked her letters into her blouse, and the four walked on, Kenneth falling behind with Gwen. "There is to be a dance Saturday night," he said, "the first of the season. Shall you go?"
"Of course. Do you think I would miss it?"