The Social Secretary [Illustration] THE SOCIAL SECRETARY _by_ DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS Author of The Plum Tree The Cost etc. etc. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD Decorations by Ralph Fletcher Seymour [Illustration] New York Grosset & Dunlap Publishers COPYRIGHT 1905 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY OCTOBER The Social Secretary The Social Secretary I November 29. At half-past one to-day--half-past one exactly--I began my "career." Mrs. Carteret said she would call for me at five minutes to one. But it was ten minutes after when she appeared, away down at the corner of I Street. Jim was walking up and down the drawing-room; I was at the window, watching that corner of I Street. "There she blows!" I cried, my voice brave, but my heart like a big lump of something soggy and sad. Jim hurried up and stood behind me, staring glumly over my shoulder. He has proposed to me in so many words more than twenty times in the last three years, and has looked it every time we've met--we meet almost every day. I could feel that he was getting ready to propose again, but I hadn't the slightest fear that he'd touch me. He's in the army, and his "pull" has kept him snug and safe at Washington and has promoted him steadily until now he's a Colonel at thirty-five. But he was brought up in a formal, old-fashioned way, and he'd think it a deadly insult to a woman he respected enough to ask her to be his wife if he should touch her without her permission. I admire Jim's self-restraint, but--I couldn't bear being married to a man who worshiped me, even if I only liked him. If I loved him, I'd be utterly miserable. I've been trying hard to love Jim for the past four months, or ever since I've really realized how desperate my affairs are. But I can't. And the most exasperating part of my obstinacy is that I can't find a good reason or excuse for it. As I was saying--or, rather, writing--Jim stood behind me and said in a husky sort of voice: "You ain't goin' to do it, are you, Gus?" I didn't answer. If I had said anything, it would have been a feeble, miserable "No"--which would have meant that I was accepting the alternative--him. All my courage had gone and I felt contemptibly feminine and dependent. I looked at him--I did like the expression of his eyes and the strength and manliness of him from head to foot. What a fine sort of man a "pull" and a private income have spoiled in Jim Lafollette! He went on: "Surely, I'm not more repellent to you than--than what that auto is coming to take you away to." "Shame on you, Jim Lafollette!" I said angrily--most of the anger so that he wouldn't understand and take advantage of the tears in my eyes and voice. "But how like you! How _brave_!"