“That was so like dear Dolly!” said Mrs. Fox later, coming up behind Susan on the porch, and slipping an arm girlishly about her waist.

“What was?” asked Susan, after greetings.

“Why, to ask what your first name was, and say that as she hated the name of Brown, she was going to call you Susan!” said Mrs. Fox sweetly.  “Don’t you find her very dear and simple?”

“Why, I just met her—­” Susan said, disliking the arm about her waist, and finding Mrs. Fox’s interest in her opinion of Dolly Ripley quite transparent.

“Ah, I know her so well!” Mrs. Fox added, with a happy sigh.  “Always bright and interested when she meets people.  But I scold her—­yes, I do!—­for giving people a false impression.  I say, ’Dolly,’—­I’ve known her so long, you know!—­’Dolly, dear, people might easily think you meant some of these impulsive things you say, dear, whereas your friends, who know you really well, know that it’s just your little manner, and that you’ll have forgotten all about it to-morrow!’ I don’t mean you, Miss Brown,” Mrs. Fox interrupted herself to say hastily.  “Far from it!——­Now, my dear, tell me that you know I didn’t mean you!”

“I understand perfectly,” Susan said graciously.  And she knew that at last she really did.  Mrs. Fox was fluttering like some poor bird that sees danger near its young.  She couldn’t have anyone else, especially this insignificant little Miss Brown, who seemed to be making rather an impression everywhere, jeopardize Connie’s intimacy with Dolly Ripley, without using such poor and obvious little weapons as lay at her command to prevent it.

Standing on the porch of the Burlingame Club, and staring out across the gracious slopes of the landscape, Susan had an exhilarated sense of being among the players of this fascinating game at last.  She must play it alone, to be sure, but far better alone than assisted as Connie Fox was assisted.  It was an immense advantage to be expected to accompany Emily everywhere; it made a snub practically impossible, while heightening the compliment when she was asked anywhere without Emily.  Susan was always willing to entertain a difficult guest, to play cards or not to play with apparently equal enjoyment—­more desirable than either, she was “fun,” and the more she was laughed at, the funnier she grew.

“And you’ll be there with Emily, of course, Miss Brown,” said the different hostess graciously.  “Emily, you’re going to bring Susan Brown, you know!—­I’m telephoning, Miss Brown, because I’m afraid my note didn’t make it clear that we want you, too!”

Emily’s well-known eccentricity did not make Susan the less popular; even though she was personally involved in it.

“Oh, I wrote you a note for Emily this morning, Mrs. Willis,” Susan would say, at the club, “she’s feeling wretchedly to-day, and she wants to be excused from your luncheon to-morrow!”

“Oh?” The matron addressed would eye the messenger with kindly sharpness.  “What’s the matter—­very sick?”