the comedy of, "Well,
_partner_! Didn't you get my signal? _Now_ who's asleep?" and the
sprightly games which followed, and exclaimed prettily over the decked
supper table, deep under the high-piled masses of her dark hair, dark
thoughts were stirring. She seemed to herself to be marching inexorably
to the crossroads, which was silly, because she had spent exactly that
sort of day and evening hundreds of times before and would again, she
told herself impatiently, but the feeling was not to be eluded. She held
herself up to her own high scorn. Why this dramatizing of the pleasant
and placid course of Wetherby Ridge events? Why shouldn't she do as the
other girls of the set had done? Was she, then, so much finer clay? If
she didn't want to be another Nannie--hot pink nursery in a shining
little new house--expensive olive oil--home-coming husband in punning
mood--pink celluloid Kewpie--half a dozen of everything in flat silver
and two _really_ good rugs to start with--then why couldn't she cast
herself serenely for the Sarah Farraday sort of thing, substituting a
typewriter for a piano? There was nothing so bleak and dreadful about
that; old Sally was busily happy, toiling hopefully for her baby-grand.
_She_ was enormously lucky, as a matter of fact, lucky beyond her
deserts. She could be, it appeared, a Nannie or a Sarah, as she chose,
and the time for choosing had arrived. And presently the girls were
exclaiming that it was twenty minutes past eleven and they really _must_
go, but it was Mrs. Wetherby's fault for always giving them such a
perfectly wonderful time that they forgot to watch the clock, and Mrs.
Wetherby was beaming back at them and insisting that she had enjoyed it
all just as much as they had, and that she hoped she could always keep
young at heart.

Sally lagged behind as they went down the steps. "Come along!" Jane
called back to her. "I know you'll talk half of what's left of the night,
and I want to get you started as soon as possible."

"She going to stay all night with you?" There was sulky surprise in
Martin's voice.

"Yes," said Jane. "But isn't 'stay _all_ night' a silly expression? As if
she might rise and stalk home in the middle of it! I wonder why we don't
say, 'stay over night'?" She ran on, ripplingly, but her escort at one
side and Sarah Farraday at the other were maintaining, respectively, a
sullen and an uncomfortable silence. When they were passing her own house
Sarah broke away from