of the beach-chair situation, the fact that the uncouth
stranger has referred to Mrs. H.S. Jumpkinson-Jones merely as "Mrs.
Jones," brands him among the Palm Beach "regulars" who have overheard
him, as a barbarian of the barbarians. People in neighboring chairs at
once turn their backs upon him and glance at each other knowingly with
raised eyebrows. At this juncture, let us hope, the daughter of the
intruder manages to pry him loose; let us hope also that she takes him
aside and tells him what everybody ought to know: namely, that Mrs. H.S.
Jumpkinson-Jones has been a society leader ever since the "Journal"
published the full-page Sunday story about her having gold fillings put
in her Boston terrier's teeth. That was away back in 1913, just before
she was allowed to get her divorce from Royal Tewksbury Johnson III of
Paris, Newport, and New York. The day after the divorce she married her
present husband, and up to last year, when the respective wives of a
munitions millionaire and a moving-picture millionaire began to cut in
on her, no one thought of denying her claim to be the most wasteful
woman in Palm Beach.

True, she may not come down to the beach to-day, but in that case it is
obviously proper that her chairs--including those of her dog and her
husband--remain magnificently vacant throughout the bathing hour.

The lady is, however, likely to appear. She will be wearing one of the
seventy hats which, we have learned by the papers, she brought with her,
and a pint or so of her lesser pearls. Her dog--which is sometimes
served beside her at table at the Beach Club, and whose diet is the same
as her own, even to strawberries and cream followed by a demi
tasse--will be in attendance; and her husband, whose diet is even
richer, may also appear if he has recovered from his matutinal headache.
Here she will sit through the hour, gossiping with her friends,
watching the antics of several beautiful, dubious women, camp followers
of the rich, who add undoubted interest to the place; calling languidly
to her dog: "_Viens, Tou-tou! Viens vite!_" above all waiting patiently,
with crossed knees, for news-service photographers to come and take her
picture--a picture which, when we see it presently in "Vogue," "Vanity
Fair," or a Sunday newspaper, will present indisputable proof that Mrs.
H.S. Jumpkinson-Jones and the ladies sitting near her (also with legs
crossed) refrained from wearing bathing suits neither through excessive