But here was no green country girl. The self-possessed young woman who stood before him looked no more out of place and impossible in Mrs. Wyeth's dignified and aristocratic parlor than she had in the store where he had last seen her. Her gown was ****** and inexpensive but it was stylish and becoming. And her manner--well, her manner was distinctly more at ease than his at that moment.
Mary had been but eight weeks among the Misses Cabot's young ladies, but she had used her eyes and her brain during that time; she was adaptable and had learned other things than those in the curriculum.
Also, she was prepared for this meeting and had made up her mind to show no embarrassment.
So the usually blase Samuel was the embarrassed party. He looked and stammered. Mrs. Wyeth was surprised and shocked.
"Samuel," she said sharply, "what is the matter with you? Why don't you speak and not stand there staring?"
Sam, with an effort, recovered some of his self-possession.
"Was I staring?" he said. "I beg your pardon, Cousin Emily. Er--
How do you do, Miss Lathrop?"
Mrs. Wyeth sniffed.
"Mercy!" she exclaimed. "Is your acquaintance as formal as that? I thought you knew each other. The boys and girls of this generation are beyond me. 'Miss Lathrop,' indeed!"
Mary smiled. "Perhaps he didn't expect to see me here, Mrs. Wyeth," she said. "How do you do, Sam?"
She and Sam shook hands. Mrs. Wyeth asked another question.
"Didn't you know Mary was with me, Samuel?" she asked.
"Oh, yes, Cousin Emily, I knew. I knew she was here, of course.
But--but I didn't--by George!" with a sudden outburst of his real feelings, "I hardly knew her, though. Really, I didn't."
Mary laughed. "Have I grown so much older in two months?" she asked.
"Oh, you haven't changed that way. I--I--" The young man, realizing that he was getting into deep water, seized an opportunity to scramble out. "Oh, I forgot!" he exclaimed. "Sorry, Crawford.
Mary--Miss Lathrop, I want to present my friend, Crawford Smith.
He's my roommate at college."
Mary and Crawford shook hands.
"I have met Mr. Smith, too, before," she said.
The young gentlemen, both of them, looked astonished.
"Have you?" cried Sam. "Oh, I say! I didn't know that. When was it?"
His friend, too, was plainly puzzled. "I hardly think so," he said.
"I don't believe I should have forgotten it. I don't remember--"
"Don't you remember coming into my uncles' store at South Harniss with Miss Keith, Sam's sister? You bought some"--with a mischievous twinkle--"some marshmallows, among other things. I sold them to you."
"You? Great Scott! Are you--why that girl's name was--what was it?"
"It was the same as mine, Mary Augusta Lathrop. But in South Harniss they call me Mary-'Gusta."
"That was it! And you are Mary-'Gusta? Yes, of course you are!
Well, I ought to be ashamed, I suppose, but I didn't recognize you.
I AM ashamed. I was awfully obliged to you that day. You helped me out of a scrape."
Sam, who had been listening with increasing curiosity, broke in.
"Say, what's all this?" he demanded. "When was this, Crawford?
What scrape? You never told me."
"And you didn't tell me that Miss Lathrop was here. You didn't say a word about her."
"Eh? Didn't I? I must have forgotten to mention it. She--she IS here, you know." Mrs. Wyeth shook her head.
"Samuel, you're perfectly idiotic today," she declared. "Of course she is here; anyone with eyes can see she is. She is--ahem--visiting me and she is attending the Misses Cabot's school. There!
Now, Mr. Smith understands, I hope. And dinner is ready. Don't any of you say another word until we are at the table. My father used to say that lukewarm soup was the worst sort of cold reception and I agree with him."
During dinner Sam was tremendously curious to discover how and where his friend and Mary had met and what the scrape might be to which Crawford had referred. But his curiosity was unsatisfied. Mr. Smith refused to tell and Mary only smiled and shook her head when questioned.
The young people furnished most of the conversation during the meal.
The recent football season and its triumphant ending were discussed, of course, and the prospects of the hockey team came in for its share. Sam, it appeared, was out for a place on the hockey squad.
"You must see some of the games, Mary," he said. "I'll get tickets for you and Cousin Emily. You're crazy about sports, aren't you, Cousin Emily."
Mrs. Wyeth regarded him through her eyeglasses.
"I imagine," she observed, "that that remark is intended as a joke.
I saw one football game and the spectacle of those boys trampling each other to death before my eyes, and of you, Samuel Keith, hopping up and down shrieking, 'Tear 'em up' and 'Smash 'em' was the nearest approach to insanity I ever experienced. Since that time I have regarded Doctor Eliot as President Emeritus of an asylum and NOT a university."
Sam was hugely delighted. "That's football," he declared. "I will admit that no one but lunatics like Crawford here play football.
Hockey, now, is different. I play hockey."
Crawford seemed surprised.
"Do you?" he asked, with eager interest. "No one has ever guessed it, not even the coach. You shouldn't keep it a secret from HIM, Sam."
Miss Pease, having been invited out that day, was not present at dinner. After the coffee was served the irrepressible Sam proposed a walk.
"You won't care to go, Cousin Emily," he said, "but I'm sure Mary will. It is a fine afternoon and she needs the air. Crawford isn't much of a walker; he can stay and keep Cousin Emily company. We won't be long."
Before Mary could decline this disinterested invitation Mrs. Wyeth saved her the trouble.
"Thank you, Samuel," she said, crisply. "Your kindness is appreciated, particularly by Mr. Smith and myself. I can see that he is delighted with the idea. But Mary and I are going to the afternoon service at the Arlington Street church. So you will have to excuse us."
