I explained them to him as briefly as I could. I had no intention of making myself obnoxious, but on the other hand I did not, and do not purpose to go out of my way to be courteous to this silly of an overgrown, spoiled baby. He tried to be nice in praise of my system, but I got rid of him as soon as I had explained all that my obligations as social secretary to the family required. He thanked me as he was leaving and said, in his most gracious tone, "I shall see that my father raises your salary." I fairly gasped at the impudence of this, but before I could collect myself properly to deal with him he was gone. Perhaps it was just as well. I must be careful not to be "sensitive"--that would make me as ridiculous as he is. And that's the man Jim Lafollette is fairly smoking with jealousy of! He was dining at Rachel's last night, and Rachel put him next me. He couldn't keep off the subject of "that young Burke." Jessie overheard him after a while and leaned round and said to me, "How do you and young Mr. Burke get on?" in her "strictly private" manner--Jessie's strictly private manner is about as private as the Monument. "Not badly," I replied, to punish Jim. "We're gradually getting acquainted." Jim sneered under his mustache. "It's the most shameful scheme two women ever put up," he said, as if he were joking. "Oh, has Jessie told you?" I exclaimed, pretending to be concealing my vexation. "It's the talk of the town," he answered, showing his teeth in a grin that was all fury and no fun. There may be women idiots enough to marry a man who warns them in advance that he's rabidly jealous, but I'm not one of them. Better a crust in quietness. III December 27. Three weeks simply boiling with business since I wrote here--and it seems not more than so many days. And all by way of preparation, for the actual season is still five days away. I can hardly realize that Mrs. Burke is the same person I looked at so dubiously two days less than a month ago. Truly, the right sort of us Americans are wonderful people. To begin with her appearance: her hair isn't "bottled," as she called it, any more. It's beautiful iron-gray, and softens her features and permits all the placid kindliness and humor of her face to show. Then there's her dress--gracious, how tight-looking she was! A _thin_ woman can, and should, wear _close_ things. But no woman who wishes to look like a lady must ever wear anything _tight_. To be tight in one's clothes is to be tight in one's talk, manner, thought--and that means--well, common. What an expressive word "common" is, yet I'm sure I couldn't define it.