“Pray, who sent you here?” inquired Marjorie.
“I thought a friend,” Fordyce’s eyes twinkled. “Now I’ve mingled in Capital society, I’m beginning to believe that my friend had a perverted sense of humor.”
“You are too harsh in your judgment, Calderon,” put in Mrs. Fordyce. “Rudeness we have with us everywhere, whereas in Washington, while there are numerous nouveaux riches seeking social recognition, who think lack of manners shows savoir faire, there are also many distinguished men and women spending the winter here. In addition the resident circle is certainly most charming and cultivated. The people who strive for vulgar ostentatious display are grafted from other cities.”
“I have no desire to be put in that class,” remarked Fordyce. “So, Janet, mind your p’s and q’s.”
Janet rose abruptly. “’Nuff said, Daddy. Are you going downtown, Marjorie?”
“Yes. Did you wish to see me, Mrs. Fordyce?”
“I will be greatly obliged if you will stop at Galt’s, Marjorie, and order the articles I had put aside yesterday, sent to me; then please stop at Small’s....”
“I think I’ll go with you,” volunteered Janet.
“Hurry then,” Fordyce darted an impatient look at the mantel clock. “Two thirty-five. I’ll send you both down in the motor, and you can stop at the bank, Janet, and draw a check for me. I’ll go and make it out; come to the library before you go,” and he left the room, followed by Janet.
“Are you happy here, Marjorie?” asked Mrs. Fordyce, turning directly to the girl.