stairway to greet me when the door opened.

"The 'second story front' had been done over into a picturesque but
useless boudoir, a wood floor polished like glass was dotted by white fur
islands; the rich velvet carpets, put down a few years before, had in
fact disappeared from the entire house. A maid, anything but cordial,
removed my wrap, looking me and it over very deliberately as she did so.
I wondered if by mistake I had been bidden to a grand function--no, there
were no visible signs of other guests.

"Not a word was spoken, so I made my way down to where the library
living-room had been, not a little curious to see what would come next.
Thick portières covered the doorway, and by them stood the butler, who
asked my name. Really, for a moment I could not remember it, I was so
startled at this sudden ceremony in the house of a friend, of such long
standing that I had jumped rope on the sidewalk with her, making
occasional trips arm-in-arm around the corner to Taffy John's little shop
for molasses peppermints and 'blubber rubbers.'

"My hesitation seemed to add to the distrust that my appearance had in
some way created. The butler also swept me from head to foot with his
critical stare, and at the same moment I became internally aware that I
had forgotten to remove my arctic over-boots. Never mind, my gown was
long, I would curl up my toes, but return to the dressing-room in full
sight of that man, I whose forbears had outbowled Peter Stuyvesant, and,
I fear, outdrunk him--never! Then the portières flew apart, and facing
a glare of bilious-hued electric light, I heard the shouted announcement
of 'Miss Doormat' as I stumbled over a tiger rug into the room. I believe
the fellow did it on purpose. However, it was very funny, and my
rubber-soled arctics probably prevented my either coasting straight