I hastened to introduce Ball to her. Her impulse to fly passed; her training in doing the conventional thing asserted itself. She lowered her head again, murmured an inaudible acknowledgment of Joe's greeting.
"Your wife is at home?" said I. If one was at home in the evening, the other always was also, and both were always there, unless they were at some theater-except on Sunday night, when they dined at Sherry's, because many fashionable people did it. They had no friends and few acquaintances.
In their humbler and happy days they had had many friends, but had lost them when they moved away from Brooklyn and went to live, like uneasy, out-of-place visitors, in their grand house, pretending to be what they longed to be, longing to be what they pretended to be, and as discontented as they deserved.
"Oh, yes, Mrs. B.
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