"
CHAPTER XXXIII
"There is one thing which I simply do not understand." Miss Davis dug
the point of a destructive parasol into the well-kept gravel of the
drive and allowed a glance of deep seriousness to drift from under
the shadow of her hat. Unfortunately, her companion was not
attending.
It was the day of Mrs. Burton Jones' garden party, the Bainbridge
event for which Miss Davis was, presumably, staying over. Mary, in a
new frock of sheerest grey and most diaphanous white, and a hat
which lay like a breath of mist against the gold of her hair, had
come down early. In the course of an observant career, she had
learned that, in one respect at least, men are like worms. They are
inclined to be early. Mary had often profited by this bit of wisdom,
and was glad that so few other women seemed to realize its
importance. One can do much with ten or fifteen uninterrupted
minutes.
But today Mary had not done much. She had found Benis, as she
expected, on the front steps. They had talked for quite ten minutes
without an interruption--but also without any reason to deplore one.
This was failure. And Mary, whose love of the chase grew as the
quarry proved shy, was beginning to be seriously annoyed with Benis.
He might at least play up! Even now he was not looking at her, and
he did not ask her what it was that she simply did not understand.
Mary decided that he deserved something--a pin-prick at least.
"Why don't you get a car, Benis?" she asked inconsequently.
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