“Oh no;” said Mr:  Mavering, impatient for the dreadful thing, whatever it was.

Mrs. Primer resumed:  “—­to the young married women meeting last winter just after a lot of pretty girls had came out, and magnanimously resolving to give the Buds a chance in society?”

“The Buds?”

“Yes, the Rose-buds—­the debutantes; it’s an odious little word, but everybody uses it.  Don’t you think that’s a strange state of things for America?  But I can’t believe all those things,” said Mrs. Pasmer, flinging off the shadow of this lurid social condition.  “Isn’t this a pretty scene?”

“Yes, it is,” Mr. Mavering admitted, withdrawing his mind gradually from a consideration of Mrs. Pasmer’s awful instances.  “Yes!” he added, in final self-possession.  “The young fellows certainly do things in a great deal better style nowadays than we used to.”

“Oh yes, indeed!  And all those pretty girls do seem to be having such a good time!”

“Yes; they don’t have the despised and rejected appearance that you’d like to have one believe.”

“Not in the least!” Mrs. Pasmer readily consented.  “They look radiantly happy.  It shows that you can’t trust anything that people say to you.”  She abandoned the ground she had just been taking without apparent shame for her inconsistency.  “I fancy it’s pretty much as it’s always been:  if a girl is attractive, the young men find it out.”

“Perhaps,” said Mr:  Mavering, unbending with dignity, “the young married women have held another meeting, and resolved to give the Buds one more chance.”

“Oh, there are some pretty mature Roses here,” said Mrs. Pasmer, laughing evasively.  “But I suppose Class Day can never be taken from the young girls.”

“I hope not,” said Mr. Mavering.  His wandering eye fell upon some young men bringing refreshments across the nave toward them, and he was reminded to ask Mrs. Pasmer, “Will you have something to eat?” He had himself had a good deal to eat, before he took up his position at the advantageous point where John Munt had found him.

“Why, yes, thank you,” said Mrs. Pasmer.  “I ought to say, ’An ice, please,’ but I’m really hungry, and—­”

“I’ll get you some of the salad,” said Mr. Mavering, with the increased liking a man feels for a woman when she owns to an appetite.  “Sit down here,” he added, and he caught a vacant chair toward her.  When he turned about from doing so, he confronted a young gentleman coming up to Mrs. Pasmer with a young lady on his arm, and making a very low bow of relinquishment.

II.

The men looked smilingly at each other without saying anything; and the younger took in due form the introduction which the young lady gave him.

“My mother, Mr. Mavering.”