with the candy. It's the very thing
I was trying to find for you the other day, Mrs. Spragg," she went on,
holding the bit of paper at arm's length; and she began to read out,
with a loudness proportioned to the distance between her eyes and the
text:

"With two such sprinters as 'Pete' Van Degen and Dicky Bowles to set the
pace, it's no wonder the New York set in Paris has struck a livelier
gait than ever this spring. It's a high-pressure season and no mistake,
and no one lags behind less than the fascinating Mrs. Ralph Marvell,
who is to be seen daily and nightly in all the smartest restaurants and
naughtiest theatres, with so many devoted swains in attendance that the
rival beauties of both worlds are said to be making catty comments. But
then Mrs. Marvell's gowns are almost as good as her looks--and how can
you expect the other women to stand for such a monopoly?"

To escape the strain of these visits, Ralph once or twice tried the
experiment of leaving Paul with his grand-parents and calling for him in
the late afternoon; but one day, on re-entering the Malibran, he was met
by a small abashed figure clad in a kaleidoscopic tartan and a green
velvet cap with a silver thistle. After this experience of the
"surprises" of which Gran'ma was capable when she had a chance to take
Paul shopping Ralph did not again venture to leave his son, and their
subsequent Saturdays were passed together in the sultry gloom of the
Malibran. Conversation with the Spraggs was almost impossible. Ralph
could talk with his father-in-law in his office, but in the hotel
parlour Mr. Spragg sat in a ruminating silence broken only by the
emission of an occasional "Well--well" addressed to his grandson. As for
Mrs. Spragg, her son-in-law could not remember having had a sustained
conversation with her since the distant day when he had first called at
the Stentorian, and had been "entertained," in Undine's absence, by her
astonished mother. The shock of that encounter had moved Mrs. Spragg to
eloquence; but Ralph's entrance into the family, without making him seem
less of a stranger, appeared once for all to have relieved her of the
obligation of finding something to say to him.

The one question she invariably asked: "You heard from Undie?" had been
relatively easy to answer while his wife's infrequent letters continued
to arrive; but a Saturday came when he felt the blood rise to his
temples as, for the fourth consecutive week, he stammered out,