And to think of our not having snow yet! I should think everybody would want to come here! Why don't you come, Mr.
Beaton ?" Beaton lifted his eyes and looked at her.

"I--I live in New York," he faltered.
"In New York City!" she exclaimed.
"Surely, Alma," said her mother, "you remember Mr.Beaton's telling us he lived in New York." "But I thought you came from Rochester; or was it Syracuse?
I always get those places mixed up." "Probably I told you my father lived at Syracuse.

I've been in New York ever since I came home from Paris," said Beaton, with the confusion of a man who feels himself played upon by a woman.
"From Paris!" Alma echoed, leaning forward, with her smiling mask tight on.

"Wasn't it Munich where you studied ?" "I was at Munich, too.

I met Wetmore there." "Oh, do you know Mr.Wetmore ?" "Why, Alma," her mother interposed again, "it was Mr.Beaton who told you of Mr.Wetmore." "Was it?
Why, yes, to be sure.