eatment of men, had been
neglected; rather, it had not been given at all. As a schoolgirl she had
never met any men except a few mild youths when visiting Lady MacMillan,
and then she had never seen them alone. She had thought herself a child,
and had behaved as a child, in those days. Then had come her years as a
postulant and as a novice. Men had ceased to exist as influences in her
life. It had not been necessary to teach her what to do when in their
society, for it had seemed improbable that she ever would be. When, at
the last moment, she had decided that after all she "had not the
vocation," there had been little or no time to prepare her for the
world. And she had come out of the convent with no social wisdom except
the wisdom of kindness and courtesy to all fellow-beings.

Man was decidedly a fellow-being, and Mary, to whom he was interesting
because entirely new, was inclined to be very kind to him, especially
when he had the handsome, almost tragic dark face of a Romeo or a young
Dante, and eyes like wells of ink into which diamonds had fallen.

She was feeling childishly pleased with herself in her new dress, for
she loved beautiful things, and knew next to nothing of suitability,
provided the colours were right. By day, one had blouses and skirts,
and high-necked frocks. At night, if one were in the world, one wore low
gowns. She had learned this from Peter and other girls at school, and
also from Lady MacMillan. When there were entertainments at the convent
for the pupils, as there were several times each year, the girls put on
their prettiest clothes. They had low-necked gowns for the dances, at
which their partners were, of course, invariably girls, and they said
that, when they "came out," they would have their dresses cut lower and
made more fashionably. Of this, the sisters quite approved for their
girls, whom they trusted never to do, never to wear, anything immodest.
At Lady MacMillan's, Mary had worn simple evening dress, before she
resolved to become a nun; and in London even Aunt Sara and Elinor, with
their thin necks, had considered it necessary to display more than their
collarbones each night at dinner.

Mary, having little money in her schoolgirl days, had never owned
anything very pretty, and now she thought it right and pleasant to make
up for lost time. The "Madame" of the shop in the Galerie Charles Trois
had earnestly recommended this gown and this hat for dinner and the
Casino; therefo