It was a large room with a Madonna over the fireplace androws upon rows of books in covers of light gold and dark goldand shiny red. All the chairs had little lace squares where one’shead should rest， the couch was just comfortable， the bookslooked as if they had been read—some—and Sally Carrol hadan instantaneous vision of the battered old library at home，with her father’s huge medical books， and the oil-paintings ofher three great-uncles， and the old couch that had been mendedup for forty-five years and was still luxurious to dream in. Thisroom struck her as being neither attractive nor particularlyotherwise. It was simply a room with a lot of fairly expensivethings in it that all looked about fifteen years old.
“What do you think of it up here？” demanded Harry eagerly.
“Does it surprise you？ Is it what you expected I mean？”
“You are， Harry，” she said quietly， and reached out her armsto him.
But after a brief kiss he seemed to extort enthusiasm fromher.
“The town， I mean. Do you like it？ Can you feel the pep inthe air？”
“Oh， Harry，” she laughed， “You’ll have to give me time. Youcan’t just fling questions at me.”
She puffed at her cigarette with a sigh of contentment.
“One thing I want to ask you，” he began rather apologetically；“you Southerners put quite an emphasis on family， and all that—not that it isn’t quite all right， but You’ll find it a little differenthere. I mean—You’ll notice a lot of things that’ll seem to you sortof vulgar display at first， Sally Carrol； but just remember thatthis is a three-generation town. Everybody has a father， andabout half of us have grandfathers. Back of that we don’t go.”
“Of course，” she murmured.
“Our grandfathers， you see， founded the place， and a lot ofthem had to take some pretty queer jobs while they were doingthe founding. For instance there’s one woman who at presentis about the social model for the town； well， her father was thefirst public ash man—things like that.”
“Why，” said Sally Carol， puzzled， “did you s’pose I wasgoin’ to make remarks about people？”
“Not at all，” interrupted Harry， “and I’m not apologizing forany one either. It’s just that—well， a Southern girl came uphere last summer and said some unfortunate things， and—oh， Ijust thought I’d tell you.”
Sally Carrol felt suddenly indignant—as though she hadbeen unjustly spanked—but Harry evidently considered thesubject closed， for he went on with a great surge of enthusiasm.
“It’s carnival time， you know. First in ten years. And there’san ice palace they’re building new that’s the first they’ve hadsince eighty-five. Built out of blocks of the clearest ice theycould find—on a tremendous scale.”
She rose and walking to the window pushed aside the heavyTurkish portières and looked out.
“Oh！” she cried suddenly. “There’s two little boys makin’ asnow man！ Harry， do you reckon I can go out an’ help ‘em？”
“You dream！ Come here and kiss me.”
She left the window rather reluctantly.
“I don’t guess this is a very kissable climate， is it？ I mean， itmakes you so you don’t want to sit round， doesn’t it？”
“We’re not going to. I’ve got a vacation for the first weekyou’re here， and there’s a dinner-dance to-night.”
“Oh， Harry，” she confessed， subsiding in a heap， half in hislap， half in the pillows， “I sure do feel confused. I haven’t gotan idea whether I’ll like it or not， an’ I don’t know what peopleexpect， or anythin’. You’ll have to tell me， honey.”
“I’ll tell you，” he said softly， “if You’ll just tell me you’reglad to be here.”
“Glad—just awful glad！” she whispered， insinuating herselfinto his arms in her own peculiar way. “Where you are is homefor me， Harry.”
And as she said this she had the feeling for almost the firsttime in her life that she was acting a part.
That night， amid the gleaming candles of a dinner-party，where the men seemed to do most of the talking while thegirls sat in a haughty and expensive aloofness， even Harry’spresence on her left failed to make her feel at home.
“They’re a good-looking crowd， don’t you think？” hedemanded. “Just look round. There’s Spud Hubbard， tackle atPrinceton last year， and Junie Morton—he and the red-hairedfellow next to him were both Yale hockey captains； Junie wasin my class. Why， the best athletes in the world come fromthese States round here. This is a man’s country， I tell you.
Look at John J. Fishburn！”
“Who’s he？” asked Sally Carrol innocently.
“Don’t you know？”
“I’ve heard the name.”
“Greatest wheat man in the Northwest， and one of thegreatest financiers in the country.”
She turned suddenly to a voice on her right.
“I guess they forget to introduce us. My name’s RogerPatton.”
“My name is Sally Carrol Happer，” she said graciously.
“Yes， I know. Harry told me you were coming.”
“You a relative？”
“No， I’m a professor.”
“Oh，” she laughed.
“At the university. You’re from the South， aren’t you？”
“Yes； Tarleton， Georgia.”
She liked him immediately—a reddish-brown mustacheunder watery blue eyes that had something in them thatthese other eyes lacked， some quality of appreciation. Theyexchanged stray sentences through dinner， and she made upher mind to see him again.
After coffee she was introduced to numerous good-lookingyoung men who danced with conscious precision and seemedto take it for granted that she wanted to talk about nothingexcept Harry.
“Heavens，” she thought， “They talk as if my being engagedmade me older than they are—as if I’d tell their mothers onthem！”
In the South an engaged girl， even a young married woman，expected the same amount of half-affectionate badinage andflattery that would be accorded a débutante， but here all thatseemed banned. One young man after getting well started onthe subject of Sally Carrol’s eyes and， how they had alluredhim ever since she entered the room， went into a violentconvulsion when he found she was visiting the Bellamys—wasHarry’s fiancée. He seemed to feel as though he had madesome risqué and inexcusable blunder， became immediatelyformal and left her at the first opportunity.