"To a party? what party?"
"Miss Rose Wainwright's."
"What, the daughter of Mr. Wainwright, the broker?" asked Raymond, incredulously.
"Yes."
Now it happened that Raymond had been particularly anxious to get an invitation to this party. Some of his friends at the Columbia Grammar School were going and he had intrigued, but unsuccessfully, to get a card of invitation. The idea that his cousin—an obscure train boy—had succeeded where he had failed seemed absurd and preposterous. It intensified his disappointment, and made him foolishly jealous of Fred.
"There must be some mistake about this," he said harshly. "You only imagine that you are invited."
"I am not quite a fool, Cousin Raymond—excuse me, Mr. Ferguson. What do you say to this?"
He drew from his pocket a note of invitation requesting the favor of Mr. Fred Fenton's company at Miss Rose Wainwright's New Year's party.
"How did she happen to send you this card?" asked Raymond, his surprise increasing. "You don't mean to say you know Rose Wainwright?"
"Yes, I know her. I spent an evening at the house nearly two weeks ago, and played backgammon with her."