Mary laughed. "Not quite, I hope," she said. "But I don't see why I should be so very anxious to meet Crawford Smith. And I'm sure he isn't anxious to meet me. If all the other girls are crazy about him, that ought to be enough, I should think."

This astonishing profession of indifference to the fascination of the football hero, indifference which Miss Barbara declared to be only make-believe, was made on a Sat.u.r.day. The next day, as Mrs. Wyeth and Mary were on their way home from church, the former made an announcement.

"We are to have a guest, perhaps guests, at dinner this noon," she said. Sunday dinner at Mrs. Wyeth's was served, according to New England custom, at one o'clock.

"Samuel, Mr. John Keith's son, is to dine with us," continued Mrs.

Wyeth. "He may bring a college friend with him. You have met Samuel, haven't you, Mary?"

Mary said that she had. She was a trifle embarra.s.sed at the prospect of meeting Sam Keith in her new surroundings. At home, in South Harniss, they had met many times, but always at the store. He was pleasant and jolly and she liked him well enough, although she had refused his invitations to go on sailing parties and the like. She knew perfectly well that his mother and sister would not have approved of these invitations, for in the feminine Keith mind there was a great gulf fixed between the summer resident and the native. The latter was to be helped and improved but not encouraged socially beyond a certain point. Mary sought neither help nor improvement of that kind. Sam, it is true, had never condescended or patronized, but he had never called at her home nor had she been asked to visit his.

And now she was to meet him in a house where she was considered one of the family. His father had been influential in bringing her there. Did Sam know this and, if he did, what influence would the knowledge have upon his manner toward her? Would he be lofty and condescending or, on the other hand, would he pretend a familiar acquaintanceship which did not exist? Alone in her room she considered these questions and then put them from her mind. Whatever his manner might be, hers, she determined, should be what it had always been. And if any embarra.s.sment was evident to others at this meeting it should not be on her part.

When she came downstairs, Mrs. Wyeth called to her to come into the parlor. As she entered the room two young men rose from the chairs beside the mahogany center table. One of these young men was Sam Keith; she had expected to see Sam, of course. But the other--the other was the very individual in whose daring deeds and glorified personality she had expressed a complete lack of interest only the day before, the young fellow whom she had last seen racing madly across the fields in the rear of Hamilton and Company's store with the larger portion of a sheet of sticky fly paper attached to his white flannels. Mr. Crawford Smith was taller and broader than on that memorable occasion but she recognized him instantly.

It was evident that he did not recognize her. Mrs. Wyeth came to meet her.

"Mary," she said, "you know Samuel, I think. You and he have met before.

Samuel, will you introduce your friend?"

Sam was staring at Mary with eyes which expressed a variety of emotions, intense surprise the most prominent. He was in a state which Barbara Howe would have described as "fussed," one most unusual for him. He had known of Mary's presence in the house; after the affair was settled John Keith told his family what he had done, facing with serene philosophy his wife's displeasure and prophecies of certain regrets. Sam had vivid and pleasing recollections of the pretty country girl in the South Harniss store. He had not told his college friend that they were to meet her that day, one reason being that he was not certain they would meet, and the other a secret misgiving that it might be well to wait and inspect and listen before boasting of previous acquaintanceship. Sam's mother had lectured him on the subject before he left home. "Don't be too familiar, Sam," was her warning. "You may be sorry if you do. The girl is well enough here in South Harniss, where she is accustomed to her surroundings, but in Boston she may be quite out of place and impossible. I have told your father so, but he won't listen, of course.

Don't YOU be foolish, for my sake."

But here was no green country girl. The self-possessed young woman who stood before him looked no more out of place and impossible in Mrs.

Wyeth's dignified and aristocratic parlor than she had in the store where he had last seen her. Her gown was simple and inexpensive but it was stylish and becoming. And her manner--well, her manner was distinctly more at ease than his at that moment. Mary had been but eight weeks among the Misses Cabot's young ladies, but she had used her eyes and her brain during that time; she was adaptable and had learned other things than those in the curriculum. Also, she was prepared for this meeting and had made up her mind to show no embarra.s.sment.

So the usually blase Samuel was the embarra.s.sed party. He looked and stammered. Mrs. Wyeth was surprised and shocked.

"Samuel," she said sharply, "what is the matter with you? Why don't you speak and not stand there staring?"

Sam, with an effort, recovered some of his self-possession.

"Was I staring?" he said. "I beg your pardon, Cousin Emily. Er--How do you do, Miss Lathrop?"

Mrs. Wyeth sniffed.

"Mercy!" she exclaimed. "Is your acquaintance as formal as that? I thought you knew each other. The boys and girls of this generation are beyond me. 'Miss Lathrop,' indeed!"

Mary smiled. "Perhaps he didn't expect to see me here, Mrs. Wyeth," she said. "How do you do, Sam?"

She and Sam shook hands. Mrs. Wyeth asked another question.

"Didn't you know Mary was with me, Samuel?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, Cousin Emily, I knew. I knew she was here, of course. But--but I didn't--by George!" with a sudden outburst of his real feelings, "I hardly knew her, though. Really, I didn't."

Mary laughed. "Have I grown so much older in two months?" she asked.

"Oh, you haven't changed that way. I--I--" The young man, realizing that he was getting into deep water, seized an opportunity to scramble out.

"Oh, I forgot!" he exclaimed. "Sorry, Crawford. Mary--Miss Lathrop, I want to present my friend, Crawford Smith. He's my roommate at college."

Mary and Crawford shook hands.

"I have met Mr. Smith, too, before," she said.

The young gentlemen, both of them, looked astonished.

"Have you?" cried Sam. "Oh, I say! I didn't know that. When was it?"

His friend, too, was plainly puzzled. "I hardly think so," he said. "I don't believe I should have forgotten it. I don't remember--"

"Don't you remember coming into my uncles' store at South Harniss with Miss Keith, Sam's sister? You bought some"--with a mischievous twinkle--"some marshmallows, among other things. I sold them to you."

"You? Great Scott! Are you--why that girl's name was--what was it?"

"It was the same as mine, Mary Augusta Lathrop. But in South Harniss they call me Mary-'Gusta."

"That was it! And you are Mary-'Gusta? Yes, of course you are! Well, I ought to be ashamed, I suppose, but I didn't recognize you. I AM ashamed. I was awfully obliged to you that day. You helped me out of a sc.r.a.pe."

Sam, who had been listening with increasing curiosity, broke in.

"Say, what's all this?" he demanded. "When was this, Crawford? What sc.r.a.pe? You never told me."

"And you didn't tell me that Miss Lathrop was here. You didn't say a word about her."

"Eh? Didn't I? I must have forgotten to mention it. She--she IS here, you know." Mrs. Wyeth shook her head.

"Samuel, you're perfectly idiotic today," she declared. "Of course she is here; anyone with eyes can see she is. She is--ahem--visiting me and she is attending the Misses Cabot's school. There! Now, Mr. Smith understands, I hope. And dinner is ready. Don't any of you say another word until we are at the table. My father used to say that lukewarm soup was the worst sort of cold reception and I agree with him."

During dinner Sam was tremendously curious to discover how and where his friend and Mary had met and what the sc.r.a.pe might be to which Crawford had referred. But his curiosity was unsatisfied. Mr. Smith refused to tell and Mary only smiled and shook her head when questioned.

The young people furnished most of the conversation during the meal.

The recent football season and its triumphant ending were discussed, of course, and the prospects of the hockey team came in for its share. Sam, it appeared, was out for a place on the hockey squad.

"You must see some of the games, Mary," he said. "I'll get tickets for you and Cousin Emily. You're crazy about sports, aren't you, Cousin Emily."

Mrs. Wyeth regarded him through her eyegla.s.ses.

"I imagine," she observed, "that that remark is intended as a joke. I saw one football game and the spectacle of those boys trampling each other to death before my eyes, and of you, Samuel Keith, hopping up and down shrieking, 'Tear 'em up' and 'Smash 'em' was the nearest approach to insanity I ever experienced. Since that time I have regarded Doctor Eliot as President Emeritus of an asylum and NOT a university."

Sam was hugely delighted. "That's football," he declared. "I will admit that no one but lunatics like Crawford here play football. Hockey, now, is different. I play hockey."

Crawford seemed surprised.

"Do you?" he asked, with eager interest. "No one has ever guessed it, not even the coach. You shouldn't keep it a secret from HIM, Sam."

Miss Pease, having been invited out that day, was not present at dinner.

After the coffee was served the irrepressible Sam proposed a walk.

"You won't care to go, Cousin Emily," he said, "but I'm sure Mary will.