Well, then, mamma, I managed not to feel superior to Mr.James Sheridan, Junior, because he didn't see anything out of place in the Sheridan Building in sugar." Mrs.Vertrees's expression had lost none of its anxiety pending the conclusion of this lively bit of analysis, and she shook her head gravely.

"My dear, dear child," she said, "it seems to me--It looks--I'm afraid--" "Say as much of it as you can, mamma," said Mary, encouragingly.

"I can get it, if you'll just give me one key-word." "Everything you say," Mrs.Vertrees began, timidly, "seems to have the air of--it is as if you were seeking to--to make yourself--" "Oh, I see! You mean I sound as if I were trying to force myself to like him." "Not exactly, Mary.

That wasn't quite what I meant," said Mrs.Vertrees, speaking direct untruth with perfect unconsciousness.

"But you said that--that you found the latter part of the evening at young Mrs.
Sheridan's unentertaining--" "And as Mr.James Sheridan was there, and I saw more of him than at dinner, and had a horribly stupid time in spite of that, you think I--" And then it was Mary who left the deduction unfinished.
Mrs.Vertrees nodded; and though both the mother and the daughter understood, Mary felt it better to make the understanding definite.
"Well," she asked, gravely, "is there anything else I can do?
You and papa don't want me to do anything that distresses me, and so, as this is the only thing to be done, it seems it's up to me not to let it distress me.