"Oh, yes. . . . Are you staying East for some time?" It was precisely what a much-resented New York cousin had once said to Madeline.
"Well, I don't— Yes, I guess I may be here quite some time."
"Do you, uh, do you find you like it here?"
"Oh, yes, it's pretty nice. These big cities— So much to see."
"'Big'? Well, I suppose it all depends on the point of view, doesn't it? I always think of New York as big but—Of course— Do you find the contrast to North Dakota interesting?"
"Well, of course it's different."
"Tell me what North Dakota's like. I've always wondered about these Western states." It was Madeline's second plagiarism of her cousin. "What is the general impression it makes on you?"
"I don't think I know just how you mean."
"I mean what is the general effect? The—impression."
"Well, it's got lots of wheat and lots of Swedes."
"But I mean— I suppose you're all terribly virile and energetic, compared with us Easterners."
"I don't— Well, yes, maybe."
"Have you met lots of people in Zenith?"
"Not so awfully many."
"Oh, have you met Dr. Birchall, that operates in your hospital? He's such a nice man, and not just a good surgeon but frightfully talented. He sings won-derfully, and he comes from the most frightfully nice family."
"No, I don't think I've met him yet," Leora bleated.
"Oh, you must. And he plays the slickest—the most gorgeous game of tennis. He always goes to all these millionaire parties on Royal Ridge. Frightfully smart."
Martin now first interrupted. "Smart? Him? He hasn't got any brains whatever."
"My dear child, I didn't mean 'smart' in that sense!" He sat alone and helpless while she again turned on Leora and ever more brightly inquired whether Leora knew this son of a corporation lawyer and that famous débutante, this hat-shop and that club. She spoke familiarly of what were known as the Leaders of Zenith Society, the personages who appeared daily in the society columns of the Advocate-Times,
