think he’d shake ’em off.  An’ my mother, she said, ‘I see you an’ Miss Lang are already ‘quainted, Mr. Van Brandt.’  An’ he laughed a lot, the way you do when you’re just tickled to death, an’ he said, ’’Quainted?  Well, I should say so!  Miss Lang an’ I are old, old friends!’ An’ he kep’ lookin’ at her, an’ lookin’ at her, the way you feel when there’s somethin’ on the table you like, an’ you’re fearful ’fraid it will be gone before it’s passed to you.  An’ my mother she said to the other comp’ny, ‘Miss Pelham, this is Radcliffe.’  An’ Miss Pelham, she was lookin’ sideways at Miss Lang an’ Mr. What’s-his-name, but she pertended she was lookin’ at me, an’ she said (she’s a Smarty-Smarty-gave-a-party, Miss Pelham is), she said, ’Radcliffe, Radcliffe?  I wonder if you’re any relation to Radcliffe College?’ An’ I said, ’No.  I wonder if you are any relation to Pelham Manor?’ An’ while they was laughin’, an’ my mother she was tellin’ how percoshus I am, my Uncle Frank he came in.  He came in kinder quiet, like he always does, an’ he stood in the door, an’ Mr. What’s-his-name was talkin’ to Miss Lang so fast, an’ lookin’ at her so hard, they didn’t neither of ’em notice.  An’ when my Uncle Frank, he noticed they didn’t notice, coz they was havin’ such fun by themselves, he put his mouth together like this—­like when your tooth hurts, an’ you bite on it to make it hurt some more, an’ then he talked a lot to Miss Pelham, an’ didn’t smile pleasant an’ happy at Mr. What’s-his-name an’ Miss Lang, when my mother, she interdooced ’em.  An’ soon Miss Lang, she took me upstairs an’ she didn’t look near so tickled to death as Mr. Van Brandt, he looked.  An’ when I asked her if she wasn’t, she said:  ‘O’ course I am.  Mr. Van Brandt was a friend o’ mine when I was a little girl.  An’ when you’re a stranger in a strange land, anybody you knew when you was at home seems dear to you.’  But she didn’t look near so pleased as he did.  She looked more like my Uncle Frank, he did before he got talkin’ so much to Miss Pelham.  An’ now I guess the way of it is, Miss Pelham’s my Uncle Frank’s best girl an’ Miss Lang’s Mr. What’s-his-name’s.”

“Well, now!  Who’d believed you could ‘a’ seen so much?  Why, you’re a reg’ler Old Sleuth the Detective, or Sherlock Holmes, or somebody like that, for discoverin’ things, ain’t you?”

“I don’t want Miss Pelham to be my Uncle Frank’s best girl, an’ I don’t see why that other man he don’t have her for his, like she was first-off, an’ leave my Miss Lang alone.”

“It all is certainly very dark an’ mysterious,” said Mrs. Slawson, shaking her head.  “You don’t know where you’re at, at all.  Like when you wake up in the black night, an’ hear the clock give one strike.  You couldn’t tell, if your life hung in the ballast, if it’s half-past twelve, or one, or half-past.”

Radcliffe pondered this for a space, but was evidently unable to fathom its depth, for presently he let it go with a sigh, and swung off to another topic.