asked Bee.

"No, indeed," said Bee. "And if we did, we wouldn't go to it. We reserve
such frolics for Europe."

"Exactly as it is with us," declared the baroness; "Carl and I always go
in Paris and Nice, but here--well, we had to have you for an excuse. I
must thank you for giving us such an amusing evening!" she added, gaily.
"After all, it is so much more diverting to catch one's friends in
mischief than strangers whom no one cares about!"

I suppose, in showing Vienna to us, we showed more of Vienna to the
baroness and her friends than they ever had seen before. We went into
all the booths and shows; we were in St. Stephen's Church at sunset to
see the light filter through those marvels of stained-glass windows.
Instead of stately drives in the Prater, we took little excursions into
the country and dined at blissful open-air restaurants, with views of
the Danube and distant Vienna, which they never had seen before. They
became quite enthusiastic over seeking out new diversions for us, and,
through their court influence, I feel sure that few Americans could have
got a more intimate knowledge of Vienna than we.

An amusing coincidence happened while we were there, concerning the gown
Mrs. Jimmie was to be painted in. The baroness's brother, Count Georg
Brunow, was an authority on dress, and, as he designed all the gowns for
his cousin, who was also in the Emperor's suite, he begged permission to
design Mrs. Jimmie's. His English was a little queer, so this is what he
said after an anxious scrutiny of Mrs. Jimmie's beauty:

"You must have a gown of white--soft white chiffon or mull over a white
satin slip. It must be very full and fluffy around the foot, and be
looped up on the skirt and around the decollete corsage with festoons of
small pink considerations."

"Considerations?" said Mrs. Jimmie.

"Carnations, you mean," said Bee.

"Yes, thank you. My English is so rusty. I mean pink carnations."

Mrs. Jimmie thanked him, and we all discussed it approvingly. Still,
she told me privately that she would not decide until she got back to
Paris to her own man, who knew her taste and style.

"You know, for a portrait," said Count Georg, "you do not want anything
pronounced. It must be quite simple, so that in fifty years it will
still be beautiful."

When we got back to Paris, we presented ourselves before Mrs. Jimmie's
dressmaker, who has dressed her ever since she was sixteen. She told him
to design a gown for