IN WHICH STRANGERS BECOME OLD FRIENDS Into the box where Miss Constance Joy--slender and dark and tall--entertained her bevy of admirers, there swished a violently-gowned young woman of buxom build and hearty manner, attended by a young man who wore a hundred-dollar suit and smiled feebly whenever he caught an eye.

In his right hand he carried Miss Polly Parsons' gloves and parasol; in his left, her race-card and hand-bag.
Round his shoulders swung her field-glasses; from his right pocket protruded her fan and from his left her auto veil.

She carried her own vanity box.
"If you aren't the darlingest thing in the world!" she greeted Miss Joy, whose face had lighted with a smile of both amusement and pleasure.

"You certainly are some Con! Every time I see you in a new gown I change my dressmaker.

Hello, boys!" She shook hands cordially with all of them as soon as she had paid her brief respects to Mrs.
Pattie Boyden, who was pleasant and indulgent enough in her greeting, though not needlessly so.
"You're looking as happy as ever, Polly," observed Constance.
"I'm as happy as a mosquito in a baby's crib," avowed Polly.