Good Books

"How d'ye do, Mrs. Van Clupp?" says one of the loungers.
"Glad to see you, Miss Marcia!" says another, a sandy-haired young man,
with a large gardenia in his button-hole, and a glass in his eye.
At the sound of his voice Miss Marcia stops and regards him with a
surprised smile. She is very pretty, is Marcia,--bewitchingly
pretty,--and she has an air of demure grace and modesty about her that
is perfectly charming. Why? oh, why does she not remain in that
sylph-like, attitude of questioning silence? But she speaks--and the
charm is broken.
"Waal now! Dew tell!" she exclaims. "I thought yew were in Pa-ar--is!
Ma, would yew have concluded to find Lord Algy here? This is _too_
lovely! If I'd known _yew_ were coming I'd have stopped at home--yes, I
would--that's so!"
And she nods her little head, crowned with its glossy braids of chestnut
hair, in a very coquettish manner, while her mother, persistently
beaming a stereotyped company smile on all around her, begins to ascend
the stairs, beckoning her daughter to follow.


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