He wanted her named Mary. She was not very clear about the position and duties of a chorus-girl, but it certainly had the air of being a last desperate resort. To-night she could have hugged both the old maids. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. We can’t. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. He did not like it. There are sentimental and traditional deferences and reverences, I know, between father and son; but that’s just exactly what prevents the development of an easy friendship.
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