and her neck with cocoanut oil to
make it more full. She sent for a bottle of "Mme. LeGrand's
Bust-Developer," and spent several Saturday afternoons at the beauty
parlors of Mme. Isoldi, where in a little booth shut off by a
white-rubber curtain, she received electrical massages, applications of
a magic N-ray hair-brush, vigorous cold-creaming and warm-compressing,
and enormous amounts of advice about caring for the hair follicles, from
a young woman who spoke French with a Jewish accent.

By a twist of psychology, though she had not been particularly fond of
Mr. Schwirtz, but had anointed herself for his coming because he was a
representative of men, yet after months of thus dignifying his
attentions, the very effort made her suppose that she must be fond of
him. Not Mr. Schwirtz, but her own self did she befool with Pemberton's
"Preparations de Paris."

Sometimes with him alone, sometimes with him and Mrs. Lawrence and one
of Mrs. Lawrence's young businessman attendants, Una went to theaters
and dinners and heterogeneous dances.

She was dazzled and excited when Mr. Schwirtz took her to the opening of
the Champs du Pom-Pom, the latest potpourri of amusements on Broadway.
All under one roof were a super-vaudeville show, a smart musical comedy,
and the fireworks of one-act plays; a Chinese restaurant, and a Louis
Quinze restaurant and a Syrian desert-caravan restaurant; a ballroom and
an ice-skating rink; a summer garden that, in midwinter, luxuriated in
real trees and real grass, and a real brook crossed by Japanese bridges.
Mr. Schwirtz was tireless and extravagant and hearty at the Champs du
Pom-Pom. He made Una dance and skate; he had a box for the vaudeville;
he gave her caviar canape and lobster _a la Rue des Trois Soeurs_ in
the Louis Quinze room; and sparkling Burgundy in the summer garden,
where mocking-birds sang in the wavering branches above their table. Una
took away an impressionistic picture of the evening--

Scarlet and shadowy green, sequins of gold, slim shoulders veiled in
costly mist. The glitter of spangles, the hissing of silk, low laughter,
and continual music quieter than a dream. Crowds that were not harsh
busy folk of the streets, but a nodding procession of gallant men and
women. A kindly cleverness which inspirited her, and a dusky perfume in
which she could meditate forever, like an Egyptian goddess throned at
the end of incense-curtained aisles. Great tapestries of velvet and
jeweled l