to point to these and tell stories of the great Iliad of the Comstock.

She was very fond of Lorry and when she heard her predicament--a party to
be given and not enough men--patted her hand and nodded understandingly.
Times were changed--ah, if the girls had been in Virginia in the
seventies! And after a brisk canter through her memories (she always had
to have that) galloped back into the present and its needs. Lorry went
home reassured and soothed. You could always count on Mrs. Kirkham's
taking hold and helping you through.

The old lady was put on her mettle, flattered by the appeal, made to feel
she was still a living force. Also she would have done anything in the
world for Minnie's girls. She consulted with her niece, well married and
socially aspiring if not yet installed in the citadel. It was a happy
thought; the niece had the very thing, "a delightful gentleman," lately
arrived in the city. So it fell out that Boye Mayer, under the
chaperonage of Mrs. Kirkham, was brought to call and asked to fill a seat
at the formidable dinner.

Formidable was hardly a strong enough word. It advanced on Lorry like a
darkling doom. Once she had set its machinery in motion it seemed to rush
forward with a vengeful momentum. Everybody accepted but Charlie Crowder,
who could not get off, and Mark Burrage, who wrote her a short, stiff
note saying he "was unable to attend." For a space that made her
oblivious to the larger, surrounding distress. It was a little private
and particular sting for herself that concentrated her thoughts upon the
hurt it left. After she read it her face had flushed, and she had dropped
it into her desk snapping the lid down hard. If he didn't want to come he
could stay away. Men didn't like her anyway; she knew it and she wasn't
going to make any mistakes. Her concern in life was Chrystie and it was