THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY

by EDITH WHARTON



1913




THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY




I

"Undine Spragg--how can you?" her mother wailed, raising a
prematurely-wrinkled hand heavy with rings to defend the note which a
languid "bell-boy" had just brought in.

But her defence was as feeble as her protest, and she continued to
smile on her visitor while Miss Spragg, with a turn of her quick young
fingers, possessed herself of the missive and withdrew to the window to
read it.

"I guess it's meant for me," she merely threw over her shoulder at her
mother.