e Madam; discussed business matters with her,
asked her opinion with a deference that would once have flattered Jemima
immensely. Now she responded politely, with forced interest, as if she
were a guest in her mother's house.

Kate asked once, "What about those parties you were going to have, dear?
Surely you have not given up the social campaign?"

"No, Mother," answered the girl, "I don't often give things up, you
know."

Kate did know. Neither had Basil Kildare often "given things up."

She went on with some effort, "I've been thinking lately over some of
the good times we used to have when I was a girl. Those of us who lived
outside of town, as you do, used to invite the others to
house-parties--only we did not call them 'house-parties' in those days,
or 'week-ends.' We called it 'staying all night.' Why shouldn't you and
Jacky have young people out to stay all night? There's room enough for
dozens of them at a time, and plenty of horses to ride. Boys and girls
don't need much in the way of amusement except each other." She paused.
"What do you say, daughter--shall I have a bathroom or two put into the
guest-wing, and some fresh papers and curtains, and make it all ready
for company again?"

"That would be very nice, Mother," said the girl, slowly, "only, you
see, we don't know any young people to invite."

"I've thought of that, too!" Kate spoke with an eagerness more pathetic
than tears. "Of course many of those boys and girls I used to know have
boys and girls of their own now. It's many years since I've seen them,
but--I think they won't all have forgotten me. If you like, I'll write
and ask some of them to let their children visit us?"

If Jemima had any knowledge of the wincing courage this offer cost, she
did not show it. "You're very kind to think of it," she said, "but I
believe it will be better if Jacqueline and I make our own friends now,
thank you."

Cut to the quick, Kate made no further effort to promote the social
campaign. But it went on without her.

One evening Professor Thorpe, after his weekly supper at Storm, followed
her into her office with an air of mingled embarrassment and importance.

"Oh, dear!" she thought. "It's coming again."

But she was mistaken. He had a proposal of another sort to make; in fact
an announcement.

"I am about to give an entertainment," he said, clearing his throat. "A
party. A dancing party."

She looked at him in amazement. "You? A dancing party?"