zeal. "If you'd only just let go of my skirt, mother--I can unhook it
twice as quick myself."

Mrs. Spragg drew back, understanding that her presence was no longer
wanted. But on the threshold she paused, as if overruled by a stronger
influence, and said, with a last look at her daughter: "You didn't meet
anybody when you were out, did you, Undie?"

Undine's brows drew together: she was struggling with her long
patent-leather boot.

"Meet anybody? Do you mean anybody I know? I don't KNOW anybody--I never
shall, if father can't afford to let me go round with people!"

The boot was off with a wrench, and she flung it violently across the
old-rose carpet, while Mrs. Spragg, turning away to hide a look of
inexpressible relief, slipped discreetly from the room.

The day wore on. Undine had meant to go down and tell Mabel Lipscomb
about the Fairford dinner, but its aftertaste was flat on her lips. What
would it lead to? Nothing, as far as she could see. Ralph Marvell had
not even asked when he might call; and she was ashamed to confess to
Mabel that he had not driven home with her.

Suddenly she decided that she would go and see the pictures of which
Mrs. Fairford had spoken. Perhaps she might meet some of the people she
had seen at dinner--from their talk one might have imagined that they
spent their lives in picture-galleries.

The thought reanimated her, and she put on her handsomest furs, and a