opular the girl who can play college songs always is at a
house-party?"

"Well, really--" Mrs. White began, almost annoyed; but she broke her
sentence off abruptly, and Mrs. Apostleman filled the pause.

"Whatever made ye go over there for a dress-maker?" she demanded. "We
never think of going there. There's a very good woman here, in the Bank
Building--"

"Madame Sorrel," supplemented Mrs. Adams.

"She's fearfully independent," Mrs. Lloyd contributed; "but she's good.
She made your pink, didn't she, Sue? Wayne said she did."

Mrs. Adams turned pink herself; the others laughed suddenly.

"Oh, you naughty girl!" Mrs. White said. "Did you tell Wayne you got
that frock in Santa Paloma?"

"What Wayne doesn't know won't hurt him," said his wife. "Sh! Here they
come!" And the conversation terminated abruptly, with much laughter.

Mrs. Burgoyne's dinner-party dispersed shortly after ten o'clock, so
much earlier than was the custom in Santa Paloma that none of the
ordered motor-cars were in waiting. The guests walked home together,
absorbed in an animated conversation; for the gentlemen, who were
delighted to be getting home early, delighted with a dinner that, as
Wayne Adams remarked, "really stood for something to eat, not just
things passed to you, or put down in dabs before you," and delighted
with the pleasant informality of sitting down in daylight, were
enthusiastic in their praise of Mrs. Burgoyne. The ladies differed with
them.

"She knows how to do things," said Parker Lloyd. "Old Von Praag himself
said that she was a famous dinner-giver."

"I don't know what you'd say, Wayne," said Mrs. Adams patiently, "if
_I_ asked people to sit down to the dinner we had to-night! Of course
we haven't eight millions, but I would be ashamed to serve a cocktail,
a soup--I frankly admit it was delicious--steaks, plain lettuce salad,
and fruit. I don't count coffee and cheese. No wines, no entrees; I
think it was decidedly QUEER."

"I wish some of you others would try it," said Willard White
unexpectedly. "I never get dinners like that, except at the club, down
in town. The cocktail was a rare sherry, the steaks were broiled to a
turn, and the salad dressing was a wonder. She had her cheese just ripe
enough, and samovar coffee to wind up with--what more do you want? I
serve wine myself, but champagne keeps you thirsty all night, and other
wines put me to sleep. I don't miss wine! I call it a bang-up dinner,
don't you, Par