After they were seated Bruce was still rather more self-conscious than was comfortable. Nothing had happened; or more truthfully, nothing had happened except that he had been keeping away from Millicent because of Franklin Mills. She evidently was not displeased to see him again. He had not realized how greatly he had missed her till her voice touched chords that had vibrated at their first meeting. Her eyes had the same steady light and kindled responsively to any demand of mirth; her hair had the same glint of gold. He marveled anew at her poise and ease. Tonight her gown, of a delicate shade of crimson, seemed a subdued reflection of her bright coloring. He floundered badly in his attempts to bring some spirit to the conversation. It seemed stupid to ask Millicent about her music or inquire how her modeling was coming on or what she had been reading. He listened with forced attention while she and Helen compared notes on recent social affairs in which they had participated. “Millie, you don’t really like going about--teas and that sort of thing,” said Helen. “I know you don’t. All you girls who have ideas are like that.” “Ideas! Dearest Helen, are you as easily deceived as that! Sometimes there are things I’d rather do than go to parties! Does one really have to keep going to avoid seeming queer?” “I go because I haven’t the brains to do anything else. I like wandering with the herd. It just thrills me to get into a big jam. And I suppose I show myself whenever I’m asked for fear I’ll be forgotten!” “My sole test of a social function is whether they feed me standing or sitting,” said Bruce when appealed to. “I can bear anything but that hideous sensation that my plate is dripping.” “That’s why men hate teas,” observed Helen. “It’s because of the silly refreshments no one wants and everybody must have or the hostess is broken-hearted.” “That’s probably where jailers got the idea of forcible feeding,” Millicent suggested. “At the Hendersons’,” Bruce added, “only the drinks are compulsory. Bud’s social symbol is the cocktail-shaker!” “Everybody drinks too much;” said Helen, “except us. Bruce, help yourself to the sherry.” “What is a perfect social occasion?” Bruce asked. “My own ideas are a little muddled, but you--Helen?” “If you must know the truth--there is no such thing! However, you might ask Millicent; she’s an optimist.” “A perfect time is sitting in the middle of the floor in my room cutting paper dolls,” Millicent answered. “I’m crazy about it. Leila says it’s the best thing I do.” “Do you ever exhibit your creations?” asked Bruce solicitously.