for Miss Bentley; the market-man picks out his choicest fruit for her;
and so it goes, if you call it managing. Well, I must be off. Good-by."

As Dr. Prue went out, Margaret Elizabeth, having dismissed the pigeons
for the time being, came in, and sat down at her desk to finish a
letter.

She wrote: "Yes, Uncle Bob and Cousin Prue argue as much as ever, and
I suspect that more often than not I am the subject upon which they
disagree. I am in a state of disagreement about myself, father dear.
Society is absorbing beyond anything I dreamed of, and if I had not
promised you to stop and think for at least ten minutes out of the
fourteen hundred and forty, I fear I should have already become a real
Society Person."

At this point Uncle Bob looked in. "Well, how many parties on hand now?"
he asked.

Margaret Elizabeth laid down her pen and counted them off on her
fingers, beginning with a tea at five, theatre and supper afterward, and
so on, till the supply of fingers threatened to become exhausted.

"Go on, I'll lend you mine," said Uncle Bob. "Prue says," he added,
"that it is enough to kill you, but you look pretty strong."

"She wouldn't mind if I worked my fingers to the bone for her hospital
or the Suffrage Association, but I want a little fun first, Uncle Bob."
Margaret Elizabeth supported an adorable chin in a pink palm and
regarded her relative appealingly.