ivin' private movie shows in the Plaza
ballroom. Some strong on the wise conversation himself, Beverley is. He
paints a bit, plays the 'cello pretty fair, has a collection of ivory
carvin's, and has traveled all over the lot. You can't faze him with the
snappy repartee, either; for that's his specialty.

As for the Baron, his long suit was listenin'. He was a bear for it.
He'd sit there, big and ornamental, with his light blue eyes glued on
Veronica, takin' it all in as fast as she could feed it to him, and
lookin' almost intelligent. Course, when he did try a comeback in
English he chopped his words up comic; but he could speak four other
languages, and Veronica seemed pleased enough to find someone she could
practice her French and German on.

For awhile there I'd have picked either of the two as a winner; only I
couldn't just make up my mind which would get the decision. But somehow
the affair don't seem to progress the way it should. Each one appeared
to get about so far, and then stick. They both seemed anxious enough
too; but just as one would take an extra spurt Veronica would somehow
cool him down. She didn't seem to be playin' one against the other,
either. Looked like careless work to me. Sadie gets almost peeved with
her.

Then one night at our house a lot of the mystery was cleared up by some
friendly joshin' across the dinner table. We had all the Adamses there
that evenin',--Pa Adams, a tall, dignified, white-whiskered old sport,
who looked like he might have been quite a gay boy in his day; Mother, a
cheery, twinklin'-eyed, rather chubby old girl; and Veronica, all in
white satin and dazzlin' to look at. Also Sadie had asked in Miss
Prescott, an old maid neighbor of ours, who's so rich it hurts, but
who's as plain and simple as they come. She's a fruit preservin'
specialist, and every fall her and Sadie gets real chummy over swappin'
cannin' receipts.

About five P.M., though, Miss Prescott 'phones over her regrets, sayin'
how her nephew had arrived unexpected; so of course she gets the word to
bring Dudley Byron along with her. Emerson, his last name is, and while
I hadn't seen much of him lately we'd been more or less friendly when he
was takin' special post-graduate work at some agricultural college and
was around home durin' vacations. An odd, quiet chap, Dudley Byron, who
never figured much anywhere,--one of the kind you can fill in with
reckless and depend on not to make a break or get in the wa