For she was one
of those happy mortals who cannot help seeing a joke, even when it
points their way.
She came down stairs one evening arrayed in her best bib and tucker,
and was speedily joined by John, whose appearance likewise indicated
some approaching festivity--all but his face, which wore a rather
disgusted expression. "What a bore parties are!" said that world-weary
individual from the height of his twenty-third year.
"That depends," answered Marjory with the superior wisdom of eighteen.
"If one meets bright people, they are not a bore. And I'll give you
some advice, Jack: don't always take it for granted that the girls
can only talk gossip and fashions. Take it for granted that they have
at least as much sense as you have, and talk about something worth
while."
"The descent of man, for instance?" suggested John, somewhat
mischievously. "From the interest _you_ take in that, I've no doubt
the rest of the girls would be charmed."
"What is that thing somebody said about the man of one book?" asked
Marjory, looking abstracted.
"Don't know," replied John--"never met him."
The party was about as lively and about as stupid as parties generally
are. There was a little pleasant music, a little innocent "square
dancing," a very well-ordered supper, and a good deal of conversation.
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