Lorry saw the change as the result of a widening social experience--she had tried to find amusement, the proper surroundings of her age and station, for Chrystie and she had succeeded. Gayeties had grown out of that first, agitating dinner till they now moved through quite a little round of parties. Under this new excitement Chrystie was acquiring poise, also fluctuations of spirit and temper. Lorry supposed it was natural--you couldn't stay up late when you weren't used to it and be as easy-going and good-humored as when you went to bed every night at ten. Lorry might have seen deeper, but her attention was diverted. For the first time in her life she was thinking a good deal about her own affairs. What she felt was kept very secret, but even if it hadn't been there was no one to notice, certainly not Chrystie, nor Aunt Ellen. The only other person near enough to notice was Fong, and it wasn't Fong's place to help--at least to help in an open way. One morning in the kitchen, when he and "Miss Lolly" were making the menu for a new dinner, he had said, "Mist Bullage come this time?" "Miss Lolly," with a faint access of color and an eye sliding from Fong's to the back porch, had answered, "No, I'm not asking Mr. Burrage to this one, Fong." "Why not ask Mist Bullage?" Fong had persisted, slightly reproving. "Because I've asked him several times and he hasn't come." That was in the old Bonanza manner. One answered a Chinaman like Fong truthfully and frankly as man to man. "He come this time. You lite him nice letter." "No, I don't want to, I've enough without him. It's all made up." "I no see why--plenty big loom, plenty good dinner. Velly nice boy, good boy, best boy ever come to my boss's house." "Now, Fong, don't get side-tracked. I didn't come to talk to you about the people, I came to talk about the food." Fong looked at her, gently inquiring, "You no like Mist Bullage, Miss Lolly?" "Of course I like him. Won't you please attend to what I'm saying?" "Then you ask him and I make awful swell dinner--same like I make for your Pa when General Grant eat here." When Fong had a fixed idea that way there was no use arguing with him; one rose with a resigned air and left the kitchen. As Lorry passed through the pantry door he called after her, amiable but determined, "All samey Mist Bullage no come I won't make bird nest ice cleam with pink eggs." No one but Fong bothered about Mr. Burrage's absence. After the evening at the Albion Chrystie set him down as "hopeless," and when he refused two dinner invitations, said they ought to have asked him to wait on the table and then he would have accepted. To this gibe Lorry made no answer, but that night before the mirror in her own room, she addressed her reflection with bitterness: