clippings." Mrs. Heeny, swooping down on her bag, drew from it a handful
of newspaper cuttings, which she spread on her ample lap and proceeded
to sort with a moistened forefinger. "Here," she said, holding one of
the slips at arm's length; and throwing back her head she read, in a
slow unpunctuated chant: '"Mrs. Henley Fairford gave another of her
natty little dinners last Wednesday as usual it was smart small and
exclusive and there was much gnashing of teeth among the left-outs
as Madame Olga Loukowska gave some of her new steppe dances after
dinner'--that's the French for new dance steps," Mrs. Heeny concluded,
thrusting the documents back into her bag.

"Do you know Mrs. Fairford too?" Undine asked eagerly; while Mrs.
Spragg, impressed, but anxious for facts, pursued: "Does she reside on
Fifth Avenue?"

"No, she has a little house in Thirty-eighth Street, down beyond Park
Avenue."

The ladies' faces drooped again, and the masseuse went on promptly: "But
they're glad enough to have her in the big houses!--Why, yes, I know
her," she said, addressing herself to Undine. "I mass'd her for a
sprained ankle a couple of years ago. She's got a lovely manner, but
NO conversation. Some of my patients converse exquisitely," Mrs. Heeny
added with discrimination.

Undine was brooding over the note. "It IS written to mother--Mrs. Abner
E. Spragg--I never saw anything so funny! 'Will you ALLOW your daughter
to dine with me?' Allow! Is Mrs. Fairford peculiar?"

"No--you are," said Mrs. Heeny bluntly. "Don't you know it's the thing