contentedly, after a silence. And there was
another pause before she said, "Where do men get their information,
George?"

"Papers, dear. And talking, I suppose. They're interested, you know."

"Yes, but--" little Mrs. Carew burst out resentfully, "I never can make
head or tail of the papers! They say 'Aldrich Resigns,' or 'Heavy Blow
to Interests,' or 'Tammany Scores Triumph,' and _I_ don't know what
it's about!"

George Carew's big laugh rang out in the night, and he put his arm
about her, and said, "You're great, Jen!"

Shortly after Mrs. White's dinner a certain distinguished old artist
from New York, and his son, came to stay a night or two at Holly Hall,
on their way home from the Orient, and Mrs. Burgoyne took this occasion
to invite a score of her new friends to two small dinners, planned for
the two nights of the great Karl von Praag's stay in Santa Paloma.

"I don't see how she's going to handle two dinners for ten people each,
with just that colored cook of hers and one waitress," said Mrs.
Willard White, late one evening, when Mr. White was finishing a book
and a cigar in their handsome bedroom, and she was at her
dressing-table.

"Caterers," submitted Mr. White, turning a page.

"I suppose so," his wife agreed. After a thoughtful silence she added,
"Sue Adams says that she supposes that when a woman has as much money
as that she loses all interest in spending it! Personally, I don't see
how she can entertain a great big man like Von Praag in that
old-fashioned house. She never seems to think of it at all, she never
apologizes for it, and she talks as if nobody ever bought new things
until the old were worn out!"

Her eyes went about her own big bedroom as she spoke. Nothing
old-fashioned here! Even eighteen years ago, when the Whites were
married, their home had been furnished in a manner to make the Holly
Hall of to-day look out of date. Mrs. White shuddered now at the mere
memory of what she as a bride had thought so beautiful: the pale green
carpet, the green satin curtains, the white-and-gold chairs and tables
and bed, the easels, the gilded frames! Seven or eight years later she
had changed all this for a heavy brass bedstead, and dark rugs on a
polished floor, and bird's-eye maple chests and chairs, and all
feminine Santa Paloma talked of the Whites' new things. Six or seven
years after that again, two mahogany beds replaced the brass one, and
heavy mahogany bureaus with glass knobs had their