Joan and Co.

The New York social season in which Miss Joan Fairburne made her début was not more than half finished before the quizzical smile in the dark eyes, half closed above a slightly upturned, dainty nose, which gave her an air of amused boredom at first so fascinating to Dicky Burnett, became, instead of an occasional expression, rather more frequent than befitted a young woman of twenty. Also it was rather too inclusive to be complimentary. As long as it was directed merely in a general way at the assembled company at thé dansant or box party or cards or dance, Dicky fell in with it, and, his long legs crossed before him and his arms folded over his chest, he assumed an air of weary submission which he was sure established between him and Miss Fairburne a bond of common lack of interest. But when those same dark eyes with their long lashes began to turn also in his direction, as he made his gay comments intended to cause her to nod sympathetically, but which did nothing of the sort, he grew uncomfortable. It was as if she brushed him into the pile with the others. It was the more humiliating because he realized that the girl was sincere. She was startlingly and delightfully sincere. He had known her now for two years; first as one of twenty girls at Wellesley when he was a junior at Harvard; then, when he was a senior, as one of a half-dozen; then, in these last few months after graduation, when he was not anything in particular, as one of two or three girls; and finally, within a week, as the girl. She did not know this yet, and every time he made up his mind to tell her he hesitated. This was not because he lacked courage or experience. He had never actually asked any one to marry him, but he had come so near it once or twice on especial occasions—such as certain moonlight nights on that yachting trip he had taken two summers before with Haywood, and again on a week-end with Benton when he met the fascinating widow—that he realized that only abstention from the easily spoken words had saved him. And always by the next morning he was congratulating himself. This time, however, it was different; the next morning he was blaming himself. Reviewing the evening before in…