and trips down to New York for the "shows." Yes, he was "interesting"!
Listening, Missy forgot even Mr. Ridgeley Holman Dobson. Here was one
who had travelled far, who had seen the world, who had drunk deep of
life, and who, furthermore, was near to her own age. And, other
things being equal, nothing can call as youth calls youth. She wasn't
conscious, at the time, that her idol was in danger of being replaced,
that she was approaching something akin to faithlessness; but something
came about soon which brought her a vague disturbance.

Missy, who had all but forgotten that she was here for a serious
purpose, suddenly explained she had to get her "copy" into the office by
ten o'clock; for the paper went to press next morning.

"I must go now and see some of the ladies," she said reluctantly.

"Well, of course, if you'd rather talk to the ladies--" responded
Mr. Briggs, banteringly. "Oh, it's not that!" She felt a sense of
satisfaction, in her own importance as she went on to explain:

"I want to ask details and figures and so forth for my report in the
paper--I'm society editor of the Beacon, you know."

"Society editor!--you? For Pete's sake!"

At first Missy took his tone to denote surprised admiration, and her
little thrill of pride intensified.

But he went on:

"What on earth are you wasting time on things like that for?"

"Wasting time--?" she repeated. Her voice wavered a little.

"I'd never have suspected you of being a highbrow," Mr. Briggs
continued.

Missy felt a surge akin to indignation--he didn't seem to appreciate
her importance, after all. But resentment swiftly gave way to a kind of
alarm: why didn't he appreciate it?

"Don't you like highbrows?" she asked, trying to smile.

"Oh, I suppose they're all right in their place," said Mr. Briggs
lightly. "But I never dreamed you were a highbrow."

It was impossible not to gather that this poised young man of the world
esteemed her more highly in his first conception of her. Impelled by the
eternal feminine instinct to catch at possibly flattering personalities,
Missy asked:

"What did you think I was?" "Well," replied Mr. Briggs, smiling, "I
thought you were a mighty pretty girl--the prettiest I've seen in this
town." (Missy couldn't hold down a fluttering thrill, even though she
felt a premonition that certain lofty ideals were about to be assailed.)

"The kind of girl who likes to dance and play tennis and be a good
sport, and all that."