his teeth and cabled.

Undine's chief surprise seemed to be that Laura's response, though
immediate and generous, did not enable them to stay on at St. Moritz.
But she apparently read in her husband's look the uselessness of such a
hope, for, with one of the sudden changes of mood that still disarmed
him, she accepted the need of departure, and took leave philosophically
of the Shallums and their band. After all, Paris was ahead, and in
September one would have a chance to see the new models and surprise the
secret councils of the dressmakers.

Ralph was astonished at the tenacity with which she held to her purpose.
He tried, when they reached Paris, to make her feel the necessity of
starting at once for home; but she complained of fatigue and of feeling
vaguely unwell, and he had to yield to her desire for rest. The word,
however, was to strike him as strangely misapplied, for from the day of
their arrival she was in state of perpetual activity. She seemed to
have mastered her Paris by divination, and between the hounds of the
Boulevards and the Place Vendome she moved at once with supernatural
ease.

"Of course," she explained to him, "I understand how little we've got
to spend; but I left New York without a rag, and it was you who made me
countermand my trousseau, instead of having it sent after us. I wish now
I hadn't listened to you--father'd have had to pay for THAT before he
lost his money. As it is, it will be cheaper in the end for me to pick
up a few things here. The advantage of going to the French dress-makers
is that they'll wait twice as long for their money as the people at
home. And they're all crazy to dress me--Bertha Shallum will tell you
so: she says no one ever had such a chance! That's why I was willing to
come to this stuffy little hotel--I wanted to save every scrap I could
to get a few decent things. And over here they're accustomed to being
bargained with--you ought to see how I've beaten them down! Have you any
idea what a dinner-dress costs in New York--?"

So it went on, obtusely and persistently, whenever he tried to sound
the note of prudence. But on other themes she was more than usually
responsive. Paris enchanted her, and they had delightful hours at
the theatres--the "little" ones--amusing dinners at fashionable
restaurants, and reckless evenings in haunts where she thrilled with
simple glee at the thought of what she must so obviously be "taken for."
All these familiar diversions