“Betty’s beginning rather young,” said Mr. Lee thoughtfully, coming in from the garage where he had been putting in his car. “That is a good car young Dorrance is driving. Do you suppose it is his own?”
“Very likely, though I do not know, either.”
“There were some others, so I imagine it is a ‘theatre party.’”
“All the better—but I’d like to keep Betty from all that till she is older. I shall, too. She is obedient and sensible. We shall have this the exception rather than the rule.”
“I’m glad to leave it to you, Mother,” replied Mr. Lee.
“I’ll warrant,” laughed his wife.
Betty need not have worried about Ted’s superior knowledge of the ways of society. He was only a high school boy after all, and though Mrs. Dorrance had been left a widow with plenty of means, she was a woman of culture and of a certain both practical and realistic sense when it came to social affairs. Real things that mattered and not foolish forms of convention governed her and provided for her boys a certain freedom, while asking of them the ordinary courtesies and consideration of gentlemen.
Another senior boy and a senior girl were in the car, Betty found, and she was glad to settle beside the senior girl in the back seat while Ted and his old friend Harry sat in front.
The “theatre party” was a very modest one, for Betty was not led to a box. But they had good seats, well in front in the balcony, and Betty enjoyed all the little attentions that Ted knew so well how to give, though as a matter of course.
The playing of the orchestra happened to be just what Betty liked best, not so much of the musical fireworks, but the lovelier selections from the classics. Even Ted was forgotten during one number till as she leaned back with a little sigh after it was over he said, “You liked that as much as I did, didn’t you? Do you do much with your violin now?”