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Mina towered over many of the guests, so Julia caught an occasional glimpse. When she slipped out of view at one point, Julia hoped she was finding some circuitous way back to her. A moment later, she spotted Mina again and realized she had merely moved on to another conversation.

Worse, a shift in the crowd revealed that Mina was now talking to Pelham Stewart, the very man Julia had hoped to meet this evening.

Mr. Stewart, a senior at Columbia, was one of the promising young writers whose work appeared in The Current. Julia knew better than to expect her friend to part the seas to beckon her over. Mina had not even glanced in her direction.

Julia had only laid eyes on Pelham Stewart once, when he gave one of the informal talks The Current hosted in the restaurant below their offices. He had not struck her as particularly attractive at first. Ruggedly handsome, maybe—with his broad shoulders, dark disobedient hair, and those thick brows that almost met at the worry lines between his eyes—but too brooding and intense for her tastes.

She had been riveted by the talk, though. His theme was "Smashing the Idols." When he declared, "We must abandon the tired notion that piety and restraint are the highest virtues," Julia had almost cheered. As a girl, she was constantly told she was insufficiently restrained ("hoydenish," to use her brother William's favorite word).

"And what of this absurd urgency about 'assimilating' immigrants?" he continued. "Nobody clings to the old country more than the Protestant aristocrat. Culturally, we're practically a British colony—the old church, the old literature, the old snobberies." (Julia tucked that away to pull out next time Father and William complained about foreigners besmirching America with their alien ways.)

Mr. Stewart relaxed when he took questions from the audience, and when one exchange made him laugh, his face completely transformed. Gone was the forbidding expression. He suddenly seemed youthful, charming, eager to be amused.

Julia was smitten, though she tried to disguise it when she and Mina went to a nearby teahouse after the talk. Mina was too perceptive. She leaned back, one long leg crossed over the other, and raised an eyebrow.

"Handsome, isn't he?"

"I suppose." Julia shrugged.

"You can't fool me, duckie. I saw how you looked at him. I must orchestrate an introduction."

Julia promptly abandoned the act and leaned forward eagerly. "Oh, would you?"

On the way over this evening, Julia asked Mina what sort of women Mr. Stewart liked.

"Don't you dare change a jot for any man!" Mina had scolded. "Not to change myself. Just for the purpose of conversing."

"Well, in that case," she replied, with a mischievous smile, "perhaps leave off that you're playing basketball."

"Will you never banish that image from your mind?" Julia laughed.

"Never. It is burned into my memory." Ever since she spotted Julia racing to her dormitory in bloomers and a middy blouse, Mina had been ribbing her about joining the freshman basketball team.

As it happened, this advice was unnecessary. Julia found Mina's friends so terrifyingly sophisticated and blasè, she would never have mentioned anything as "rah-rah-sis-boom-bah" as basketball.

"Do I look all right, at least?" Julia had put on a simple blue silk dress with covered buttons, which looked nice with her eyes, and wrapped an ivory Persian-embroidered scarf around her waist. Her dark hair was in a low, loose knot.

"Anything goes, really. You're terribly aristocratic-looking, but there's nothing you can do about that." She paused a moment, as if in thought, then added, "Come to think of it, I'm going to call you 'Duchess' from now on instead of 'duckie.'"

It pained Julia, watching her friend and Mr. Stewart in an animated conversation. She knew Mina would tease her tomorrow. Why did you not join us? You said you wanted to meet Pelham! But not everyone was comfortable elbowing her way through a crowd in such a manner.

Nor was Julia comfortable continuing to stand in awkward solitude. Defeated, she headed to the bedroom to get her cloak. But then she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see a face that was as welcome as it was familiar.

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Today's Reading

Mina towered over many of the guests, so Julia caught an occasional glimpse. When she slipped out of view at one point, Julia hoped she was finding some circuitous way back to her. A moment later, she spotted Mina again and realized she had merely moved on to another conversation.

Worse, a shift in the crowd revealed that Mina was now talking to Pelham Stewart, the very man Julia had hoped to meet this evening.

Mr. Stewart, a senior at Columbia, was one of the promising young writers whose work appeared in The Current. Julia knew better than to expect her friend to part the seas to beckon her over. Mina had not even glanced in her direction.

Julia had only laid eyes on Pelham Stewart once, when he gave one of the informal talks The Current hosted in the restaurant below their offices. He had not struck her as particularly attractive at first. Ruggedly handsome, maybe—with his broad shoulders, dark disobedient hair, and those thick brows that almost met at the worry lines between his eyes—but too brooding and intense for her tastes.

She had been riveted by the talk, though. His theme was "Smashing the Idols." When he declared, "We must abandon the tired notion that piety and restraint are the highest virtues," Julia had almost cheered. As a girl, she was constantly told she was insufficiently restrained ("hoydenish," to use her brother William's favorite word).

"And what of this absurd urgency about 'assimilating' immigrants?" he continued. "Nobody clings to the old country more than the Protestant aristocrat. Culturally, we're practically a British colony—the old church, the old literature, the old snobberies." (Julia tucked that away to pull out next time Father and William complained about foreigners besmirching America with their alien ways.)

Mr. Stewart relaxed when he took questions from the audience, and when one exchange made him laugh, his face completely transformed. Gone was the forbidding expression. He suddenly seemed youthful, charming, eager to be amused.

Julia was smitten, though she tried to disguise it when she and Mina went to a nearby teahouse after the talk. Mina was too perceptive. She leaned back, one long leg crossed over the other, and raised an eyebrow.

"Handsome, isn't he?"

"I suppose." Julia shrugged.

"You can't fool me, duckie. I saw how you looked at him. I must orchestrate an introduction."

Julia promptly abandoned the act and leaned forward eagerly. "Oh, would you?"

On the way over this evening, Julia asked Mina what sort of women Mr. Stewart liked.

"Don't you dare change a jot for any man!" Mina had scolded. "Not to change myself. Just for the purpose of conversing."

"Well, in that case," she replied, with a mischievous smile, "perhaps leave off that you're playing basketball."

"Will you never banish that image from your mind?" Julia laughed.

"Never. It is burned into my memory." Ever since she spotted Julia racing to her dormitory in bloomers and a middy blouse, Mina had been ribbing her about joining the freshman basketball team.

As it happened, this advice was unnecessary. Julia found Mina's friends so terrifyingly sophisticated and blasè, she would never have mentioned anything as "rah-rah-sis-boom-bah" as basketball.

"Do I look all right, at least?" Julia had put on a simple blue silk dress with covered buttons, which looked nice with her eyes, and wrapped an ivory Persian-embroidered scarf around her waist. Her dark hair was in a low, loose knot.

"Anything goes, really. You're terribly aristocratic-looking, but there's nothing you can do about that." She paused a moment, as if in thought, then added, "Come to think of it, I'm going to call you 'Duchess' from now on instead of 'duckie.'"

It pained Julia, watching her friend and Mr. Stewart in an animated conversation. She knew Mina would tease her tomorrow. Why did you not join us? You said you wanted to meet Pelham! But not everyone was comfortable elbowing her way through a crowd in such a manner.

Nor was Julia comfortable continuing to stand in awkward solitude. Defeated, she headed to the bedroom to get her cloak. But then she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see a face that was as welcome as it was familiar.

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