Though he was broad enough in his views to realize that types repeat themselves only in variations, and that girls of to-day are not all that they were in the happy eighties--that one might make up flashily like Geraldine St.John, or dance outrageously like Bertha Underwood, and yet remain in all essential social values "a lady"-- still he was aware that the external decorations of a chorus girl could not turn the shining daughter of the St.Johns for an imitation of paste, and, though the nimble Bertha could perform every Jazz motion ever invented, one would never dream of associating her with a circus ring.

It was not the things one did that made one appear unrefined, he had concluded at last, but the way that one did them; and Patty Vetch's way was not the prescribed way of his world.

Small as she was there was too much of her.

She contrived always to be where one was looking.

She was too loud, too vivid, too highly charged with vitality; she was too obviously different.