Mary’s conversation was as abundant and amusing as ever, and she did not show any signs of the weariness that her letter had made so much of.
“That’s because I have acquired a society manner,” she announced proudly. “I conceal my real emotions under a mask of sparkling gaiety.”
“You can’t conceal things from us that way,” declared Katherine. “How under the sun did you hear about that psychology lecture?”
“Why, a man I know told me,” explained Mary innocently. “He’s also a friend of the lecturer. We were at dinner together one night last week, and he knew I was a Harding-ite, and happened to mention it. Any objections?”
“And you really want to go?” demanded Madeline.
“Of course,” retorted Mary severely. “I always welcome every opportunity to improve my mind.”
But to the elaborate plans that had been made for her entertainment Mary offered a vigorous protest. “My dears,” she declared, “I should be worn to a frazzle if I did all that. Didn’t I tell you that I’d come up to rest? I’ll have breakfast with anybody who can wait till I’m ready to get up, and we’ll have one dinner all together. But it’s really too cold to drive back from Smuggler’s Notch after dark, and besides you know I never cared much for long drives. But we’ll have the spread to-night, anyway, just as you planned, because it’s going to be such a full week, and I wouldn’t for the world have any of you miss anything on my account.”
“And you don’t care about the French play?” asked Roberta, who had moved heaven and earth to get her a good seat.
“No, dear,” answered Mary sweetly. “My French is hopelessly rusty.”
“Then I should think you’d go in for improving it,” suggested Babe.