r than you are."
"Oh, but boys are much younger than girls, Mrs. Mortimer. Harry Sterling's quite a boy still."
A knock sounded at the door. A minute later the boy walked in. The sight of Maudie Sinclair produced a momentary start, but he recovered himself and delivered a note from his mother, the excuse for his visit. It was an invitation for a few days ahead; there could certainly have been no hurry for it to arrive that night. While Mrs. Mortimer read it, Harry sat down and looked at her. She was obliged to treat his arrival as unimportant, and invited him to have a glass of wine.
"Why are you in evening dress?" asked Maudie wonderingly.
"For dinner," answered Harry.
"Do you dress when you're alone at home?"
"Generally. Most men do."
Maudie allowed herself to laugh. Mrs. Mortimer saw the joke, too, but its amusement was bitter to her.
"I like it," she said gently. "Most of the men I know do it."
"Your husband doesn't," observed Miss Sinclair.
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