She and Max went on into the dining room.
“Some high-steppers,” remarked Max. “Not your type, Mary Lou.”
“I don’t care for the little blonde,” agreed Mary Louise. “But I did sort of like Pauline Brooks. She was my first friend here in Philadelphia, and she seemed awfully sociable.”
“I don’t like her,” said Max emphatically.
Of course, Mary Louise was flattered, and she smiled contentedly.
“Well, you needn’t worry—she’ll never be one of my best friends,” she said.
The waiter led them to a table with a pretty bouquet on the shining white linen cover, and Mary Louise felt almost as if she were at a party. An orchestra was playing, and there were many people dancing. Everything here spoke of gayety and life: no wonder Pauline Brooks referred the Bellevue to Stoddard House. But she must be very rich to be able to stay here.
“A big city is grand, isn’t it?” she remarked to Max, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But it can be an awfully lonely place too, Mary Lou. It all depends on who is with you.” And his eyes told her who the person was whom he preferred.
“Yes, I guess you’re right, Max. I was lonely—and it was wonderful of you to come. I wish you could stay the whole time here with me.”