THE WORLD AND PATTY On the way home, leaning against her father who had not spoken since the car started, Patty shut her eyes and went over, one by one, the incidents of the dinner.

What had she done that was right?
What had she done that was wrong?
Was her dress just what it ought to have been?
Had she talked to Stephen Culpeper about the things people are supposed to discuss at a dinner?
Had he seen how embarrassed she was beneath her pretence of gaiety?
Would she be better looking if she were to let her hair grow long again?
What had Mrs.Page, who looked as if she had stepped down from one of those old prints, thought of her?
Beneath the hard brightness of her manner there was a passionate groping toward some dimly seen but intensely felt ideal.

She longed to learn if she could only learn without confessing her ignorance.

Her pride was the obstinate, unreasonable pride of a child.
"If I could only find out things without asking!" The image of Stephen rose in her mind, which worked by flashes of insight rather than orderly processes.

She saw his earnest young face, with the sleek dark hair, which swept in a point back from his forehead, his sombre smoke-coloured eyes, and the firm, slightly priggish line of his mouth.