"Not for anything," said Bill. "I haven't any ideas. That's your part of it. I'm going to let you handle the planning along with the correspondence. You've got more dope on it than I have. You're the manager, or maybe the chaperon. I'm only the débutante."
As Mary regarded this large and impossible débutante the mere suggestion of chaperoning him appalled her.
"But surely you've got some suggestions," she said.
"Not a solitary one. Where would I get any? I've been on the outside all my life, not even looking in. Is it all right for me to smoke? Thanks. No; it's up to you. But remember—there's no rush. Don't get the idea I'm driving you. Why, you can take all the time in the world. Take six months; take a year. Think it over."
"A year!" echoed Mary. "But you ought to start right away."
"Why?"
"Why—so you can enjoy the—er—advantages of society."
"Well, Mr. Bones—I mean Miss Norcross, of course—what are the advantages of society?"
He stood against the mantel, his feet spread wide, his hands deep in his pockets, staring down at her with a challenging grin.
Mary became confused. Her soul was crying out in protest at the unfairness of it. What did she know about the advantages of society? And yet she must know. Was it possible he suspected her? Any social secretary ought to have the advantages of society at the tip of her tongue.