It was the old story, thought Susan, listening sympathetically, and in utter disbelief, to these recitals.  Mary Lou and Georgie were not alone in claiming vague and mythical love-affairs; Emily even carried them to the point of indicating old bundles of letters in her desk as “from Bob Brock—­tell you all about that some time!” or alluding to some youth who had gone away, left that part of the country entirely for her sake, some years ago.  And even Georgie would not have taken as seriously as Emily did the least accidental exchange of courtesies with the eligible male.  If the two girls, wasting a morning in the shops in town, happened to meet some hurrying young man in the street, the color rushed into Emily’s face, and she alluded to the incident a dozen times during the course of the day.  Like most girls, she had a special manner for men, a rather audacious and attractive manner, Susan thought.  The conversation was never anything but gay and frivolous and casual.  It always pleased Emily when such a meeting occurred.

“Did you notice that Peyton Hamilton leaned over and said something to me very quickly, in a low voice, this morning?” Emily would ask, later, suddenly looking mischievous and penitent at once.

“Oh, ho!  That’s what you do when I’m not noticing!” Susan would upbraid her.

“He asked me if he could call,” Emily would say, yawning, “but I told him I didn’t like him well enough for that!”

Susan was astonished to find herself generally accepted because of her association with Emily Saunders.  She had always appreciated the difficulty of entering the inner circle of society with insufficient credentials.  Now she learned how simple the whole thing was when the right person or persons assumed the responsibility.  Girls whom years ago she had rather fancied to be “snobs” and “stuck-up” proved very gracious, very informal and jolly, at closer view; even the most prominent matrons began to call her “child” and “you little Susan Brown, you!” and show her small kindnesses.

Susan took them at exactly their own valuation, revered those women who, like Ella, were supreme; watched curiously others a little less sure of their standing; and pitied and smiled at the struggles of the third group, who took rebuffs and humiliations smilingly, and fell only to rise and climb again.  Susan knew that the Thayers, the Chickerings and Chaunceys and Coughs, the Saunders and the St. Johns, and Dolly Ripley, the great heiress, were really secure, nothing could shake them from their proud eminence.  It gave her a little satisfaction to put the Baxters and Peter Coleman decidedly a step below; even lovely Isabel Wallace and the Carters and the Geralds, while ornamenting the very nicest set, were not quite the social authorities that the first-named families were.  And several lower grades passed before one came to Connie Fox and her type, poor, pushing, ambitious, watching every chance to score even the tiniest progress