Mary, who had a dangerous habit of characterizing people in her Day
Book, had written when she met Agnes Trevor: "She radiates
intelligence, good will, cheeriness, innate superiority and
uncompromising virginity."

"Dear Mary!" she exclaimed in her crisp bright tones as she kissed her
amiable hostess. "How delightful to find you alone. I was afraid you
would be surrounded as usual."

"Oh, my novelty is wearing off," said Mary drily. "But I will tell
them to admit no one else today. I find I enjoy one person at a time.
One gets rather tired in New York of the unfinished sentence."

"Oh, do." Mary's quick eye took note of a certain repressed excitement
in the fine eyes of her guest, who had taken an upright chair.
Lounging did not accord with that spare ascetic figure. "And you are
quite right. It is seldom one has anything like real conversation.
One has to go for that to those of our older women who have given up
Society to cultivate the intellects God gave them."

"Are there any?" murmured Mary.

"Oh, my dear, yes. But, of course, you've had no time to meet them in
your mad whirl. Now that things have slowed down a bit you _must_ meet
them."

"I'm afraid it's too late. I sail in a fortnight."

"Oh!" Miss Trevor's voice shook oddly, and the slow color crept up her
cheeks. But at that moment the tea was brought in.

"Will you pour it out?" asked Mary. "I'm feeling rather lazy."

"Of course." Miss Trevor was brightly acquiescent. She seated herself
before the table. The man retired with instructions that Madame was
not at home to other callers.

Mary watched her closely as she stirred the tea with a little
business-like air, warmed the cups, distributed the lemon and then
poured out the clear brown fluid.

"Formosa Oolong," she said, sniffing daintily. "The only tea. I hate
people who drink scented teas, don't you? I'm going to have a very
strong cup, so I'll wait a minute or two. I'm--rather tired."

"You? You look as if you never relaxed in your sleep. How do you keep
it up?"

"Oh, think of the life the younger women lead. Mine is a quiet amble
along a country road by comparison. . . . But . . . monotonous!"

The last word came out with the effect of a tiny explosion. It
evidently surprised Miss Trevor herself, for she frowned, poured out a
cup of tea that was almost black, and began sipping it with a somewhat
elaborate concentration for one so simple and direct of method.