“Chad’s sister—who was Sarah Newsome. She’s married—didn’t I mention it?—to Jim Pocock.”
“Ah yes,” she tacitly replied; but he had mentioned things—! Then, however, with all the sound it could have, “Who in the world’s Jim Pocock?” she asked.
“Why Sally’s husband. That’s the only way we distinguish people at Woollett,” he good-humoredly explained.
“And is it a great distinction—being Sally’s husband?”
He considered. “I think there can be scarcely a greater—unless it may become one, in the future, to be Chad’s wife.”
“Then how do they distinguish you?”
“They don’t—except, as I’ve told you, by the green cover.”
Once more their eyes met on it, and she held him an instant. “The green cover won’t—nor will any cover—avail you with me. You’re of a depth of duplicity!” Still, she could in her own large grasp of the real condone it. “Is Mamie a great parti?”
“Oh the greatest we have—our prettiest brightest girl.”
Miss Gostrey seemed to fix the poor child. “I know what they can be. And with money?”