I saw a short, dark young man
standing on the porch with Robert Lamhorn there the other day, so I
suppose that was Roscoe. 'Jim' still lurks in the mists, but I shall
meet him to-night. Papa--" She stepped nearer to him so that he had
to face her, and his eyes were troubled as he did. There may have
been a trouble deep within her own, but she kept their surface merry
with laughter. "Papa, Bibbs is the youngest one's name, and Bibbs
--to the best of our information--is a lunatic. Roscoe is married.
Papa, does it have to be Jim?"
"Mary!" Mrs. Vertrees cried, sharply. "You're outrageous! That's
a perfectly horrible way of talking!"
"Well, I'm close to twenty-four," said Mary, turning to her. "I
haven't been able to like anybody yet that's asked me to marry him,
and maybe I never shall. Until a year or so ago I've had everything
I ever wanted in my life--you and papa gave it all to me--and it's
about time I began to pay back. Unfortunately, I don't know how to
do anything--but something's got to be done."
"But you needn't talk of it like THAT!" insisted the mother,
plaintively. "It's not--it's not--"
"No, it's not," said Mary.
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