The two people didn't
feel in the least the same.
The two Mr. Crowes, he thought. "Mr. Oliver Crowe--meet Mr. Oliver Crowe."
"On our right, ladies and gentlemen, we have one of the country's greatest
curiosities--a young gentleman who insists upon going on existing when
there is nothing at all that makes his existence useful or interesting or
proud. A very realistic wax figure that will toddle, shoot a line and play
almost any sort of game until you might easily believe it to be genuinely
alive. Mr. Oliver Crowe."
The house-party was to last a week, except for Ted Billett who would have
to go back after Labor Day--and before eight hours of it were over, Oliver
was watching Ted with grandmotherly interest, a little mordant jealousy,
and humor, that, at times, verged toward the hysterical. Nancy--and
especially the loss of her--had made him sensitive as a skinless man to
the winds and vagaries of other young people in love--and while Ted could
look at and talk with Elinor Piper and think himself as safe as a turtle
under its shell from the observations and discoveries of the rest of the
party he could no more hide himself or his intentions from Oliver's
painful scrutiny than he could have hidden the fact that he had suddenly
turned bright green.