vial, worn topics of the
day--the usual make-talk of the multitude. I am always very happy in the
selection of my _promoters_. I may not be very original, but I am
quick to appropriate new ideas. I rapidly get them into the line of
march, ready for immediate use.

To be a "social success" one must be something of an actress. Men
usually expect a vast amount of acting from young women, who will,
if they are discreet, certainly live up to that expectation. Men are
willing to be deceived, but it must not be a labeled deceit. I go down
the street and meet Mr. Seyhmoor; although I see him a block off, and
before he sees me, yet I affect great surprise when he greets me--a
little start is quite effective. The trifling little deception floods
my face with color, which comes almost at my command. It easily flashes
upon him that I am indeed surprised, and betrayed into an expression of
my delight. He is flattered. He joins me. A batch of envious women watch
my little triumph. _That_ is

=Flirting for Revenue Only=

Then a walk down the street, a talk of mere wordy nothings, but of deep
and tender looks. In point of words, a make-talk affair; in point of
feeling, a vague shadowy suggestion of twenty delicious possibilities;
in point of fact a walk without any serious results. Calburt Young, a
fascinating man-about-town, a semi-Bohemian, joins me at a fashionable
ball. He takes me away from the dancing-room (and the other men), for
Bohemians never dance. He finds, as only he can, some quiet unoccupied
nook, a little out of the way, and yet a very proper place. An effective
spot environed by flowers, and palms broad and graceful, hung with
dimly-lighted, richly-colored lanterns--where you may see but not be
seen, where you may hear the gayety and yet by it not be disturbed.
Music from the ball-room reaches me, and a delicate oriental perfume
fills the air. Calburt Young, handsome, silent, with a look of earnest
appeal on his face, looks down into mine. Not the man, but his manner,
the situation, the music, the stealthy, intoxicating odor of perfume
and flowers, the sway of each tropical leaf, the distant gayety, all
surcharge my soul; gratify to the fullest extent my sensuous nature--my
love of the picturesque and the luxurious. The temptation is strong to
depart from my fixed principle. But I do not yield. I half extend my
ungloved hand, white and ringless, murmur in a low voice suggestive of
suppressed emotion, "You are ve