the debate. Subliminal self said it was because he was a clean,
good-hearted, manly fellow. Lucy responded that he was too bashful. "He
is handsome," retorted subliminal self. "But there are times when he
grows so abashed that he is awkward." Subliminal self said he would
outgrow that. "But there are other men who are just as nice, just as
handsome, and just as clever, who are not so overwhelmingly shy," argued
Lucy. Whereat subliminal self drew itself up proudly and demanded: "Name
one!" And Lucy was like the person who can remember faces, but has no
memory at all for names.

II

Cousin Mary came to town as she had promised, and she made Cousin Jimmy
drop his work and follow her through the shops half the morning. Cousin
Mary was all that Cousin Jimmy had ever said of her. She was pretty and
she was genial. When these attributes are combined in a cousin they
invite confidences.

The two were standing on a corner, waiting for a swirl of foot
passengers, carriages and street-cars, to be untangled, when Mary heard
Jimmy making some remark about "Miss Putnam."

"So, she's the one, is she, Jimmy?"

"Well--er--I--I don't know. You see--"

"Certainly I see. Who wouldn't? Is she pretty, Jimmy?"

Jimmy saw a pathway through the crowd and led his cousin to the farther
curb before answering:

"Yes, she is very pretty."

"Tell me all about her. How long have you known her? How did you meet
her? Is she tall or short? Is she dark or fair? Is she musical? Oh, I am
just dying to know all about her!"

All the way down State Street Jimmy talked. All the way down State
Street he was urged on and aided and abetted by the questions and
comments of Cousin Mary, and when they had buffeted their way over
Jackson to Michigan Avenue and found breathing room, she turned to him
and asked pointedly:

"When is it to be?"

"When is what to be?"

"The wedding."

"Whose wedding?" Jimmy's tone was utterly innocent.

"Whose? Yours and Lucy's, to be sure."

"Mine and Lucy's? Why? Mary, I've never asked her yet."

"You've never asked her! Do you mean to tell me that when you can talk
about her for seven or eight blocks, as you have, you have not even
asked her to marry you? Why, James Trottingham Minton, you ought to be
ashamed of yourself! Where does this paragon of women live? Take me to
see her. I want to apologize for you."

"Won't it be better to get her to come in and lunch with us? She lives
so far out you'd miss your t