"I am not—unhappy, and Truxton is such a dear. But I shall be glad to get home, Becky."
"But you look so lovely, Mary, and everybody seems so kind."
"They are, but underneath I am just plain—Mary Flippin. They know that, and so do I, and it will take them some time to forget it."
There was an anxious look in Becky's eyes. "It seems to me that you are feeling it more than the others."
"Perhaps. And I shouldn't have said anything. Don't let Truxton know."
"Has anyone said anything to hurt you, Mary?"
"No, but when I dance with the men, I can't speak their language. I haven't been to the places—I don't know the people. I am on the outside."
Becky had a sudden forlorn sense that things were wrong with the whole world. But she didn't want Mary to be unhappy.
"Truxton loves you," she said, "and you love him. Don't let anything make you miserable when you have—that. Nothing else counts, Mary."