“How pretty!” interrupted Lucy uneasily, calling their attention to the thin new moon as it rose above the straggling houses.
“I suppose you are missing your mother,” Mrs. Hamilton resumed when the conversation paused again. “It was so long since you had seen her. I envied you having her with you. I haven’t seen my own mother for over two years. I was surprised when the doctor told me Mrs. Merwent was going to be married, though I don’t know why I should have been. She is certainly a wonderfully well preserved woman. I suppose you and Mr. Winter will go to the wedding.”
“I don’t think so.” Lucy glanced at John and Doctor Hamilton, who had withdrawn a little from the two women and were smoking together.
“I don’t care much for the Hamiltons,” John commented, as he and Lucy were on their way home. “I want to make friends that are not so dull and commonplace. Their idea of highbrow art goes about as far as the pictures on the popular magazine covers. I think I’ll join the Craftsman’s Club. Mathews of Layard’s belongs and he’s offered several times to put my name up. It will cost fifty dollars a year dues. A lot of artists belong and it would be a good place to spend an evening now and then.”
As they were preparing to retire John returned again to the subject of society.
“I think we ought to give a little dinner, Lucy,” he said. “We have been several places and we ought to do something to pay them all back. Besides, in that way you gradually get a larger circle of acquaintances.”
“All right, John,” agreed Lucy, “if you would like to—if you think we can afford it. I’ve no dinner gown, you know.”
“Oh, go ahead and get something. We’ll make up the list of people we want tomorrow night,” he insisted.
The next evening at dinner he burst forth in a sudden impatient tirade.
“What’s the matter with Katy, Lucy?” he exclaimed. “Since your mother’s not here to push her along she seems to have forgotten how to cook! This is certainly what I call a thin dinner.”
“It isn’t Katy, John. We have just the same cooking that we used to have before Mother came. I thought better to cut down our expenses.” Lucy colored as she spoke, but looked steadfastly at him.
“Well, I’m not ready to starve yet to save a penny, even if you are!”
After the meal they considered the list of invitations for the dinner.
“Miss Powell we want, of course,” John began. “I’ll think of a man for her. Oh, yes! There’s Mathews, Layard’s head bookkeeper. He’s a bachelor. Then there’s the Hamiltons. I suppose they’ll have to come. Miss Storms we don’t want—we don’t know many people, Lucy. Let’s see—There’s Miss Lyle, and Mrs. Morris, too. They came to the tea you gave for Nannie, didn’t they? We must invite Mrs. Morris’s husband, too. I know him slightly. And we can find a man for Miss Lyle. Oh, yes. Jim Sprague. I’d rather not invite him, but I’m afraid people will talk. He used to practically live here. I guess we can’t get out of it. And we mustn’t leave out Nora Stimpson, although she’s seemed to forget that we are alive since we came out here. But she’s still at the Art School. I saw her the other day on the car. She’s on the faculty now. I’ll have to think of a man for her. Why, it’ll be quite a little dinner—just about the right size!”
The succeeding morning at the office, John handed Jim an envelope.
“Lucy is giving a little informal dinner,” he explained.
Jim read the invitation and put it in his pocket.
“I’m afraid I can’t come,” he observed after a moment’s consideration. “I was going to run over our Layard’s materials bills with Mathews Wednesday night.”
“Mr. Mathews is coming, too,” stated John stiffly, “so he won’t be able to work Wednesday night.”
“I had planned to see Wilson later in the evening,” pursued Jim, flushing. “He thinks he may want still another row of cottages built in the spring. However, I’ll see and let you know a little later.” And Jim left the office.
He took a car that passed Miss Storms’ apartment. It was a warm day.
“I hardly expected to find you in,” Jim remarked as he greeted her.
She smiled.
“You shouldn’t have found me, but the heat was stronger than my good resolutions.”
They began to talk earnestly.
“Thank you for coming, Jim,” she told him after a short conversation. He had risen and taken his hat. “I’m not invited. In fact things look as though I were dumped. I don’t know all—but you go.” She rose and laid her hand on his arm. “Don’t lose sight of that dear child,” she added seriously.
Jim nodded his head.
“You might call me up before the evening is over,” he suggested. “Neither one of them will answer the phone at a dinner party. It will give me a chance to get away in case my welcome is worn out.”
A half an hour later he entered the office.
“I think I’ll be able to come after all,” he said to John.
XXXV
The day before the dinner Lucy went shopping and purchased a ready-made dinner dress and some rouge.
“You’re looking so well, dear Mrs. Winter,” remarked Miss Powell, the next night when the guests were arriving.
Lucy’s gown was a white demi-toilette and her hair was dressed high. Her cheeks glowed brightly.
When Jim came he shook hands with kindly formality.
“I’m glad to see you looking better,” he said to Lucy.
“Thank you,” she replied, smiling.
When the dinner was over and the ladies had retired to the living room, Doctor Hamilton, who had moved next to Jim, offered him a cigar.
“You’re getting thin, young man,” the doctor observed. “I expect you’re working too hard.”
Jim took the cigar.
“See here, Doctor,” he replied in a joking tone, “you can’t get a
