y eye-lids and drooping mouth, suggested a partially-melted wax
figure which had run to double-chin.

Mrs. Heeny, in comparison, had a reassuring look of solidity and
reality. The planting of her firm black bulk in its chair, and the
grasp of her broad red hands on the gilt arms, bespoke an organized and
self-reliant activity, accounted for by the fact that Mrs. Heeny was a
"society" manicure and masseuse. Toward Mrs. Spragg and her daughter
she filled the double role of manipulator and friend; and it was in the
latter capacity that, her day's task ended, she had dropped in for a
moment to "cheer up" the lonely ladies of the Stentorian.

The young girl whose "form" had won Mrs. Heeny's professional
commendation suddenly shifted its lovely lines as she turned back from
the window.

"Here--you can have it after all," she said, crumpling the note and
tossing it with a contemptuous gesture into her mother's lap.

"Why--isn't it from Mr. Popple?" Mrs. Spragg exclaimed unguardedly.

"No--it isn't. What made you think I thought it was?" snapped her
daughter; but the next instant she added, with an outbreak of childish
disappointment: "It's only from Mr. Marvell's sister--at least she says
she's his sister."

Mrs. Spragg, with a puzzled frown, groped for her eye-glass among the
jet fringes of her tightly-girded front.

Mrs. Heeny's small blue eyes shot out sparks of curiosity.
"Marvell--what Marvell is that?"

The girl explained languidly: "A little fellow--I think Mr. Popple said
his name was Ralph"; while her mother continued: "Undine met them both
last night at that party downstairs. And from something Mr. Popple said
to her about going to one of the new plays, she thought--"

"How on earth do you know what I thought?" Undine flashed back, her grey
eyes darting warnings at her mother under their straight black brows.

"Why, you SAID you thought--" Mrs. Spragg began reproachfully; but Mrs.
Heeny, heedless of their bickerings, was pursuing her own train of
thought.

"What Popple? Claud Walsingham Popple--the portrait painter?"

"Yes--I suppose so. He said he'd like to paint me. Mabel Lipscomb
introduced him. I don't care if I never see him again," the girl said,
bathed in angry pink.

"Do you know him, Mrs. Heeny?" Mrs. Spragg enquired.

"I should say I did. I manicured him for his first society portrait--a
full-length of Mrs. Harmon B. Driscoll." Mrs. Heeny smiled indulgently
on her hearers. "I know everybody