Back, and well out of the picture, a potted
hydrangea beside the Louis Quinze armchair, her hands in silk mitts laid
out along the gold-chair sides, her head quavering in a kind of mild
palsy, Mrs. Miriam Horowitz, smiling and quivering her state of
bewilderment.

With an unfailing propensity to lay hold of to whomsoever he spake, Mr.
Lester Goldmark placed his white-gloved hand upon the white-gloved arm
of Mrs. Coblenz.

"Say, mother Coblenz, ain't it about time this little girl of mine was
resting her pink-satin double A's? She's been on duty up here from four
to seven. No wonder uncle Mark bucked."

Mrs. Coblenz threw her glance out over the crowded room, surging with a
wave of plumes and clipped heads like a swaying bucket of water which
crowds but does not lap over its sides.

"I guess the crowd is finished coming in by now. You tired, Selene?"

Miss Coblenz turned her glowing glance.

"Tired! This is the swellest engagement-party I ever had."

Mrs. Coblenz shifted her weight from one slipper to the other, her
maroon-net skirts lying in a swirl around them.

"Just look at gramaw, too! She holds up her head with the best of them.
I wouldn't have had her miss this, not for the world."

"Sure one fine old lady! Ought to have seen her shake my hand, mother
Coblenz. I nearly had to holler, 'Ouch!'"

"Mamma, here comes Sara Suss and her mother. Take my arm, Lester honey.
People mamma used to know." Miss Coblenz leaned forward beyond the dais
with the frail curve of a reed.

"Howdado, Mrs. Suss.... Thank you. Thanks. Howdado, Sara. Meet my
_fiance_, Lester Haas Goldmark; Mrs. Suss and Sara Suss, my _fiance_....
That's right; better late than never. There's plenty left.... We think
he is, Mrs. Suss. Aw, Lester honey, quit! Mamma, here's Mrs. Suss and
Sadie."

"Mrs. Suss! Say--if you hadn't come, I was going to lay it up against
you. If my new ones can come on a day like this, it's a pity my old
friends can't come, too.

"Well, Sadie, it's your turn next, eh?... I know better than that. With
them pink cheeks and black eyes, I wish I had a dime for every chance."
(_Sotto._) "Do you like it, Mrs. Suss? Pussy-willow taffeta.... Say, it
ought to be. An estimate dress from Madame Murphy--sixty-five with
findings. I'm so mad, Sara, you and your mamma couldn't come to the
house that night to see her things. If I say so myself, Mrs. Suss,
everybody who seen it says Jacob Sinsheimer's daughter herself didn't
have a