"I don't know--I question if he himself knows--only it has been, for him, most unusual and lasting." "How's the girl?" "You mean, what is her attitude toward Devereux?" "No--how is she herself?" "Pretty good sort," said Pendleton. "I don't know her well at all; I see her at the dances--at dinner--at cards--across the tennis net--on the golf course--the way one meets, you know--and she impresses me always as distinctively likable. A square girl, I should call her." "That is high praise from you, old man," Burgoyne remarked. "I shouldn't want higher, if I were a woman." "Oh, piffle!" Pendleton scoffed. "It isn't piffle, nor nonsense, nor anything of the sort," returned the other. "I knew the time when your _ipse dixit_ went far to make or break a debutante." "Forget it, Sheldon! Don't cast up my past sins--I'm trying to bury them." "Are you succeeding?" "I hope so! At least I've deluded myself with the idea until some reminding friend comes along and digs up a bunch of them and shakes the bones." He touched a bell. "Take Mr. Burgoyne's order," he said to the boy. "I'm going to drink a silver fizz--have one." "Not on your life!" exclaimed Burgoyne. "I'm not fond of soap suds as a beverage. I prefer them with my bath." "Every one to his taste," said Pendleton. "There goes Miss Emerson again, with Devereux _et al._ in tow," nodding toward the window. "She looks like a thoroughbred," Burgoyne reflected, watching her swing across the links to the tennis courts. "It's a pity she has such a bounder for a father." "The mother is worse; he is good natured and tries to be liked--she, however, comes pretty near being impossible." "But she is a schemer--a manager, you say?" "And she has managed this campaign to perfection, I admit. She must have lain awake nights for years scheming the moves. I saw it begin ten years ago--when the Emersons first appeared at a quiet summer hotel where some of our nice people went. She worked slowly, being content to make progress by degrees--to pick up a nodding and speaking acquaintance with the old families, and have her daughter get to know their daughters. Children, you know, are neither discriminating nor particular; if they like one, they don't ask for credentials. That is how Marcia Emerson got to know those who later, when she went away to school, became her friends. The campaign of _ma mère_ has never relaxed in all those years--but it has taken many ramifications. The Club's needing the piece of ground was a fortunate accident--of the dame's foresight. She heard one day that we had bought here--the next day she had put the idea into Emerson's head to buy also. She meant to get in--and she got." "One always admires a general!" commented Burgoyne. "At present I suppose she is engaged in stalking a prospective son-in-law?"