THE BROWN MAN
I was enjoying myself pretty fairly, taking it altogether. I wished I was better dressed. It made me wild to see women in such lovely things. Not that I envied them their clothes. I can safely say that about a good many of them, that was all there was to envy; and, after all, clothes are not quite everything. But it was disgusting that I should be so dowdy. And the consciousness was forcing itself on me momentarily more and more, that Jane’s shoes were tight, even for shoes. Still, there were alleviations. It was not so unpleasant as one might think, to feel that five grown men were hanging on your skirts—even if they were not in the latest fashion—as if it was painful to be more than a yard or so away from you. The ill-concealed fury with which they resented the interest wh
