Now don't frown. I
won't bother you again this week. I know you hate dinners and girls. But
really, George, this is an unusual case. The girl is just home from
Europe, and buried her grandmother yesterday. She hasn't a soul in the
world belonging to her that can be with her, and the pastor's wife has
asked her over to dinner quietly. Of course she isn't going out. She must
be in mourning. And you know you're fond of the doctor."
"Yes, I'm fond of the doctor," said George, frowning discouragedly; "but
I'd rather take him alone, and not with a girl flung at me everlastingly.
I'm tired of it. I didn't think it of Christian people, though; I thought
she was above such things."
"Now, George," said his mother severely, "that's a real insult to the
girl, and to our friend too. She hasn't an idea of doing any such thing.
It seems this girl is quite unusual, very religious, and our friend
thought you would be just the one to cheer her. She apologized several
times for presuming to ask you to help her. You really will have to go."
"Well, who is this paragon, anyway? Any one I know? I s'pose I've got to
go."
"Why, she's a Miss Bailey," said the mother, relieved. "Mrs. Wilton
Merrill Bailey's granddaughter. Did you ever happen to meet her? I never
did."
"Never heard of her," growled George. "Wish I hadn't now."
"George!"
"Well, mother, go on. I'll be good. What does she do? Dance, and play
bridge, and sing?"
"I haven't heard anything that she does," said his mother, laughing.
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