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all kinds of people in the world, and this, together with several other reasons, was why she did not want Carolyn running around in the north end of town.
    Not long after Alice’s invitation had been rejected Mrs. Bridge was downtown shopping, paying very little attention to the people around her, when all at once she was conscious that a man was staring at her. She could not help glancing at him. She saw only that he was in his forties and that he was not badly dressed. She turned away and walked to another counter, but he followed her.
    “How do you do?” he began, smiling and touching the brim of his hat.
    Mrs. Bridge grew a little frightened and began looking around for assistance.
    The man’s face became red and he laughed awkwardly. “I’m Henry Schmidt/ 1 he said. There was a pause. He added nervously, “Gladys Schmidt’s husband.”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Mrs. Bridge exclaimed. “I didn’t recognize you.”
    They talked for a few minutes. He mentioned having seen Ruth coming out of a movie the previous week and com-merited that she was growing into quite a beauty, for which Mrs. Bridge thanked him. Finally he tipped his hat and said good-by.
    “It’s so nice to see you/ 1 she responded. “Do say hello to Gladys for me. We really should get together some evening.”

19
Grace Barren
    Grace Barron was a puzzle and she was disturbing. She belonged in the country-club district, for Virgil was a banker, and yet she seemed dissatisfied there. Mrs. Bridge could not altogether grasp whatever it was Grace Barron was seeking, or criticizing, or saying.
    Grace Barron had once said to her, “India, I’ve never been anywhere or done anything or seen anything. I don’t know how other people live, or think, even how they believe. Are we right? Do we believe the right things?”
    And on another occasion, when Mrs-Bridge had passed a nice compliment on her home, Grace replied, “Virgil spent fifty thousand dollars on this place.” It had not been a boast; it had been an expression of dissatisfaction.
    At luncheons, Auxiliary meetings, and cocktail parties Mrs. Bridge always found herself talking about such matters as the by-laws of certain committees, antique silver, Royal Doulton, Wedgwood, the price of margarine as compared to butter, or what the hemline was expected to do, but since Grace Barron had entered the circle she found herself fumbling for answers because Grace talked of other things art, politics, astronomy, literature. After such a conversation Mrs. Bridge felt inade-quate and confused, if a little flattered and refreshed, and on the way home she would think of what she should have said, and could have said, instead of only smiling and replying, “It does seem too bad,” or, “Well, yes, I expect that’s true.”
    Said Mr. Bridge, glancing over the edge of his evening newspaper while she was talking about Grace Barron, “Ask her if she wants one to marry her daughter.”
    Mrs. Bridge replied defensively, “They just have a son.” She knew this was a silly remark and added hurriedly, “I suppose you’re right, but “
    “If you doubt me, ask her and see what she says.”
    “Goodness,” Mrs. Bridge said, picking up the latest Tattler, “suppose we drop the subject. I certainly didn’t mean to provoke you so.”
    Yet she continued to think about many things Grace Barron had said and about Grace herself because she was different somehow. The first time she had ever seen Grace was one afternoon in October of the previous year, and she could remember it so clearly because it was the day of the first Italian air raid against Ethiopia. In Kansas City the sun was shining and the leaves of the trees were changing color. It was a beautiful day. The Barrons had just moved into the neighborhood and Madge Arlen, whose husband had attended high school with Virgil Barron, was going to stop by and get acquainted, and Mrs. Bridge went along. The Barrons had moved into an enormous Colonial home near