“Nothing—that's why I ask you. I've just got a note from her. She says she knew mamma when she lived in Washington, and that her brother has fallen in love with you, and that she won't have another happy moment—or something like that—if you and I don't come to a tea she is giving to a Miss Ruth MacFarlane; and that I am to give her love to mamma, and bring anybody I please with me.”
“When?” asked Jack. He could hardly restrain his joy.
“I think next Saturday—yes, next Saturday,” consulting the letter in her hand.
“Where? At Mr. Grayson's rooms?” cried Jack.
“Yes, at her brother's, she says. Here, Jack—you read it. Some number in East Fifteenth Street—queer place for people to live, isn't it, Garry?—people who want anybody to come to their teas. I've got a dressmaker lives over there somewhere; she's in Fifteenth Street, anyhow, for I always drive there.”
Jack devoured the letter. This was what he had been hoping for. He knew the old gentleman would keep his word!
“Well, of course you'll go, Corinne?” he cried eagerly.
“Of course I'll do nothing of the kind. I think it's a great piece of impudence. I've never heard of her. Because you had her brother upstairs, that's no reason why—But that's just like these people. You give them an inch and—”
Jack's cheeks flushed: “But, Corinne! She's offered you a courtesy—asked you to her house, and—”
“I don't care; I'm not going! Would you, Garry?”