"He is somewhere about, I think."
"We shall lose our waltz, Mrs. MacBirney," urged Arthur De Castro.
"Oh, we mustn't do that. Let's run," whispered Alice, taking his arm.
"Who is Mrs. MacBirney?" asked Grace of Larrie with an appealing look as Alice moved away.
"Why, don't you know? Her husband owns some beet plants."
"What lovely manners she has." Grace spoke under her breath. "And so quiet. Where are their refineries, Larrie?"
"In the West."
"Where in the West?"
"Somewhere out toward the Rocky Mountains," hazarded Larrie.
"Denver?" suggested Grace doubtfully.