“I thought it was very pleasant,” said Vane, eluding the second form of the question. But Haviland recurred to it.
“I mean the people. Miss Thomas, for instance.”
“Miss Thomas, for instance,” said the stranger. “I think,” he continued, recalling to mind his mental label, “she is sweet-tempered, innocent, ambitious, and shallow.” Vane had formerly prided himself on some acquaintance with women of the world.
John laughed. “Perhaps you are right,” he said. “But she will amuse you, and wake you up.” It seemed as if he were remembering something; then he laughed again. “You do not do her justice yet. She is one of the most entertaining and, in an innocent little way, exciting girls I know. I put her next you for that purpose.”
“Who is her father?”
“Oh, a stockbroker down-town. No one in particular. The family would not interest you.”
“None of the mammas were here to-night?”
“Dear me, no,” answered John. “Why do you ask?”
“I should like to see some of them; that is all.”