Sheilah was amazed at herself. Once she had been skillful at conversation, but it was so long ago, and for such a little while. Once, too, she had read Amy Lowell, and other modern poets (modern now no more), but she had had no time to keep up with books; nor money, nor inspiration. She hadn't talked to any gentleman (except a doctor about children's diseases, or a real-estate broker about rents, or a bond salesman about a better investment for the little property her mother had left her) since she left Wallbridge.
She thought she had forgotten how to talk about anything else. But how easily it came back! How easily wearing lovely clothes came back, too, and the confidence of manner that accompanies them. Like swimming, she supposed. One doesn't forget how—ever. Only there must be water, of course. And here at Avidon's there was water for Sheilah. Everybody had been so kind to her! Not only this man (though he had been kind first, and was still the most kind), but every one in the little group ('The Outsiders,' they called themselves), into which he had introduced her.
This man had been kind to her because of Dr. Baird. He was a personal friend of Dr. Baird's. He had been introduced by Dr. Baird, and, Sheilah suspected, had been instructed to see to it that she had a good time at Avidon's. Sheilah had been instructed
