Flappers and Philosophers/Benediction/Chapter 3
III
Back in the reception-room Lois met a half-dozen more of Keith’s particular friends; there was a young man named Jarvis, rather pale and delicate-looking, who, she knew, must be a grandson of old Mrs. Jarvis at home, and she mentally compared this ascetic with a brace of his riotous uncles.
And there was Regan with a scarred face and piercing intent eyes that followed her about the room and often rested on Keith with something very like worship. She knew then what Keith had meant about "a good man to have with you in a fight."
He's the missionary type—she thought vaguely—China or something.
"I want Keith’s sister to show us what the shimmy is," demanded one young man with a broad grin.
Lois laughed.
"I'm afraid the Father Rector would send me shimmying out the gate. Besides, I'm not an expert."
"I'm sure it wouldn't be best for Jimmy's soul anyway," said Keith solemnly. "He's inclined to brood about things like shimmys. They were just starting to do the—maxixe, wasn't it, Jimmy?—when he became a monk, and it haunted him his whole first year. You'd see him when he was peeling potatoes, putting his arm around the bucket and making irreligious motions with his feet."
There was a general laugh in which Lois joined.
"An old lady who comes here to Mass sent Keith this ice-cream," whispered Jarvis under cover of the laugh, "because she'd heard you were coming. It's pretty good, isn't it?"
There were tears trembling in Lois' eyes.