eved her ears had she heard this? Could
she have believed that little Mrs. Bankhead, whose simple book-muslin
and plainly braided dark hair excited her nightly contempt, was held
in such respect and admiration by those who would not know her. And
Bankhead, whom her husband spoke of with such infinite contempt, as
having "nothing at all," "not salt to his porridge." And yet as Mrs.
Fairchild saw them courted and gay, she longed for some of their
porridge, "for they knew French."

And thus the season wore on in extreme weariness and deep
mortification. The Fairchilds made no headway at all. She made no
acquaintances at all at the opera, as she had fondly hoped. She even
regretted that her husband had refused their seats to the Bankheads.
Had he yielded them a favor may be they would have spoken to them.

Desperate, at last, she determined she would do something. She would
give a party. But who to ask?

Not old friends and acquaintance. That was not to be thought of. But
who else? She knew nobody.

"It was not necessary to know them," she told her husband. "She would
send her card and invitations to all those fine people, and they'd be
glad enough to come. The Bankheads, too, and the Hamiltons, she would
ask them."

"You are sure of them, at any rate," said her husband contemptuously.
"Poor devils! it's not often they get such a supper as they'll get
here."

But somehow the Hamiltons and Bankheads were not as hungry as Mr.
Fairchild supposed, for very polite regrets came in the course of a
few days, to Mrs. Fairchild's great wrath and mortification.

This was but the beginning, however. Refusals came pouring in thick
and fast from all quarters.

The lights were prepared, the music sounding, and some half dozen
ladies, whose husbands had occasionally a business transaction with
Mr. Fairchild, looked in on their way to a grand fashionable party
given the same evening by one of their own _clique_, and then
vanished, leaving Mrs. Fairchild with the mortified wish that they had
not come at all, to see the splendor of preparations and the beggary
of guests. Some few young men dropped in and took a look, and bowed
themselves out as soon as the Fairchilds gave them a chance; and so
ended this last and most desperate effort.

"My dear," said Mrs. Fairchild one day to her husband in perfect
desperation, "let us go to Europe."

"To Europe," he said, looking up in amazement.

"Yes," she replied, with energy. "That's wha