wraps; Linda only regarded them when they were exceptional. Usually
she was intent on the men. It often happened that they returned her
frank gaze with a smile, or stopped to converse with her. Sometimes
it was an actor with a face dryly pink like a woman's from make-up;
they were familiar and pinched her cheeks, calling her endearing
names in conscious echoing voices as if they were quite hollow
within. Then there were simply business men, who never appeared to
take off their derby hats, and spoke to her of their little girls at
home. She was entirely at ease with the latter--so many of her
mother's friends were similar--and critically valued the details of
their dress, the cigar-cases with or without gold corners, the
watch-chains with jeweled insignia, the cuff-links and embroidered
handkerchiefs.

If her mother approached while Linda was so engaged the elder would
linger with a faint smile, at which, now, the girl was conscious of
a growing impatience. She'd rise with dignity and, if possible,
escape with her parent from florid courtesies. This sense of
annoyance oppressed her, too, in the dining-room, where her mother,
a cocktail in her hand, would engage in long cheerful discussions
with the captains or waiters. Other women, Linda observed, spoke
with complete indifference and their attention on the _carte de
jour_. Of course it was much more friendly to be interested in
the servants' affairs--they told her mother about their wives and
the number of their children, the difficulties of bringing both ends
together, and served her with the promptest care; but instinctively
Linda avoided any but the most formal contact.

She had to insist, as well, on paying the tips; for Mrs. Condon, her
sympathies engaged, was quite apt to leave on the table a five-dollar