A Woman Named Smith

by Marie Conway Oemler

I didn't tell him I knew it.

One of his men came to tell him he was needed urgently. As it meant a thirty-mile trip and the night was cold, I made him wait for a cup of coffee and an omelet."

"Miss Smith—"

"You said 'Sophy' a while ago. 'Sophy' sounds all right to me."

"It sounds fine to me, too, Sophy." And he reached out and seized my hand with a grip that made me wince.

"I told you I was a bear!" he said, regretfully.

When Alicia returned, she came, as usual, to my room.

"I am tired!" she yawned, and curled herself up on the bed.

"Didn't you have a nice time?"

"Oh, I suppose so! Everybody was lovely to me, and I could have divided my dances. These Southerners are easy to love, aren't they? I find it very easy for me! And oh, Sophy, there's to be a picnic day after to-morrow, at the Meade plantation, in my honor, if you please! We go by automobile.—I never thought I could get tired dancing, Sophy. But I am. Tired!"