"Surely, Alice," he insists, "there must be some way in which I, as—er—an old friend, might——"
Mrs. Hollister cuts him off with a wave of her hand. "You don't understand," says she. "I am no longer the vain, frivolous young girl whom you knew that winter in Chicago. My first season, that was. I was being lavishly entertained. I suppose I became dazzled by it all,—the attention, the new scenes, the many men I met. I've no doubt I behaved very silly. But now—well, I have realized all my social ambitions. Now I am devoting my life to the memory of my sainted husband, to charity, to our dear church."
I gawps curious over at J. Bayard to see what comeback he has to this dose of mush, and finds him starin' foolish at her.
"There is only one thing——" she begins.
"Yes?" says Steele, kind of faint. "Something in which we might——"
"I am interested in a group of girls," says she, "factory girls; one of our Guild Mission classes, you know. They have been anxious to have some dances. Now I am strongly opposed to the modern dances, all of them. True, I've seen very little, almost nothing. So I decided that, in order to convince myself that I am right, I might as well, while I am in New York—well—er——"
"I get you," I puts in. "You want to watch the real thing pulled—the fox trot, and the new polkas, and so on. Eh?"
"Not for my own personal amusement," corrects Mrs. Hollister. "I am sure I shall be bored, perhaps shocked; but then I shall be better able to warn my girls."
"The old gag!" says I. "I know what would fit your case,—a late dinner at the Maison Maxixe. Eh, Steele?" and I tips him the knowin' wink.
"Why—er—yes," says J. Bayard. "I presume Mr. McCabe is correct. And I am sure we should be delighted to have Mrs. Hollister as our guest."