to the tips of her dainty, dancing feet.

I liked her from the first, and if her "small and earlies" were said
to be so called because they were timed by the small and early
numerals on the clock dial, and if her "little" bridge games kept in
active circulation a goodly share of our country's legal tender, those
things are not crimes.

I lived in one of the polite sections of New York City, up among the
East Sixties, and at the insistence of my sister and aunt, who lived
with me, our home was near enough the great boulevard to be designated
by that enviable phrase, "Just off Fifth Avenue." We were on the north
side of the street, and, nearer to the Avenue, on the south side, was
the home of Vicky Van.

Before I knew the girl, I saw her a few times, at long intervals, on
the steps of her house, or entering her little car, and
half-consciously I noted her charm and her evident zest of life.

Later, when a club friend offered to take me there to call, I accepted
gladly, and as I have said, I liked her from the first.

And yet, I never said much about her to my sister. I am, in a way,
responsible for Winnie, and too, she's too young to go where they play
Bridge for money. Little faddly prize bags or gift-shop novelties are
her stakes.

Also, Aunt Lucy, who helps me look after Win, wouldn't quite
understand the atmosphere at Vicky's. Not exactly Bohemian--and yet,
I suppose it did represent one compartment of that handy-box of a