Elise came in, bringing her guest with her. The three girls waiting in the sitting-room were surprised to see the small, dainty person whom Elise introduced as Miss Anna Gorman. She had a sweet, sad little face, and wore a simple one-piece gown of dove-grey voile. Her hat was grey, also; a turban shape, with a small knot of pink roses at one side. Anna was not pretty, but she had a refined air, and a gentle manner. Though embarrassed, she strove not to show it, and tried to appear at ease.

Mona greeted her cordially: “How do you do, Anna?” she said, for they had agreed to call the girls informally, by their Christian names. “I am glad to see you. Come with me into the boudoir, and lay off your coat.” Mona herself assisted, for she thought it better not to have her maid about.

“I’m well, thank you,” said Anna, in response to Mona’s inquiry, and then she broke out, impulsively: “Oh, I’m so happy to be here! It was so heavenly kind of you young ladies to ask me. You don’t know what it means to me!”

“Why, I’m very glad,” said Mona, touched at the girl’s gratitude. “Now, I hope you’ll just have the time of your life!”

“Oh, I shall, indeed! I know it. I’m enjoying every minute, just being in these lovely rooms, and seeing you kind ladies.”

Then Mona’s manicure girl came. Her name was Celeste Arleson, and she was a tall, slender young woman, garbed all in black. It was the gown she always wore at her work, and, being of French descent, she had an air of charm that made her attractive.

“Good-morning, Celeste; come right in,” said Mona, and then she introduced her to Anna.

The two looked at each other a little shyly, and then Anna said, “Good-morning,” in a timid way.

Mona felt embarrassed, too, and began to wonder if their party would be a failure, after all.

But Patty came in then and, with her ever-ready tact, took the two visitors to the drawing-room, and began to show them some pictures and curios.

Then Jenny Bisbee came, the girl from the ribbon counter, whom Clementine had invited.

“My, isn’t this fine!” she exclaimed, as she met the others. “I just do think it’s fine!”

“I’m glad we could arrange for you to come,” said Clementine, cordially.

“Glad! My gracious, I guess I’m glad! Well! if you measured ribbon from morning till night, I guess you’d be glad to get away from it for once. Why, I measure ribbon in my dreams, from night till morning. I can’t seem to get away from that everlasting stretching out of thirty-six inches, over and over again.”

“But the ribbons are so pretty,” said Clementine, by way of being agreeable.

“Yes; when they first come in. But after a few weeks you get so tired of the patterns. My, I feel as if I could throw that Dresden sash ribbon on the floor and stamp on it, I’m so tired of seeing it! And there’s one piece of gay brocade that hits me in the eye every morning. I can’t stand that piece much longer.”

“I’ll come round some day, and buy it,” said Patty, laughing good-naturedly. “I didn’t know the ribbons were so individual to you.”

“Yes, they are. There’s one piece of light blue satin ribbon, plain and wide, that I just love. It’s a real comfort to me.”

Jenny gave a little sigh, as she thought of her favourite ribbon, and Patty looked at her in wonderment, that she should be so sensitive to colour and texture. But her taste in colours did not seem to extend to her clothes. Jenny was a pale little thing, with ashy blonde hair, and large, light blue eyes. She wore a nondescript tan-coloured dress, without tone or shape; and she had a weary, exhausted air, as if chronically tired.

Conversation was a little difficult. The four hostesses tried their best to be entertaining without being patronising, but it was not an easy task. At least, their advances were not easily received, and the guests seemed to be on the alert to resent anything that savoured of patronage. But help came from an unexpected quarter. Just at one o’clock Mrs. Greene arrived.

“My land!” she exclaimed, as she entered the room, “if this isn’t grand! I wouldn’t of missed it for a farm! You see, I waited out on the corner, till it was just one o’clock. I know enough to get to a party just on the minute. My bringin’ up was good, if I have fell off a little since. But my folks was always awful particular people,—wouldn’t even take their pie in their hands. My husband, now, he was different. He wasn’t a fool, nor he wasn’t much else. But I only had him a year, and then he up and got killed in a rolling mill. Nice man, John, but not very forth-putting. So I’ve shifted for myself ever since. Not that I’ve done so awful well. I’m slow, I am. I never was one o’ those to sew with a hot needle and a scorching thread, but I do my stent right along. But, my! how I do rattle on! You might think I don’t often go in good society. Well, I don’t! So I must make the most of this chance.”

Mrs. Greene’s chatter had been broken in upon by introductions and greetings, but that bothered her not at all. She nodded her head affably at the different ones, but kept right on talking.

So Mona was fairly obliged to interrupt her.

“Now, let us go out to luncheon,” she said, after the maid had announced it twice.

“Glad to,” said Mrs. Greene. “Oh, my land! what a pretty sight!”

She stood stock still in the doorway, and had to be urged forward, in order that the others might follow.

“Well, I didn’t know a table could look so handsome!” she went on. “My land! I s’pose it’s been thirty years since I’ve went to a real party feast, and then, I can tell you, it wasn’t much like this!”

Probably not, for Mona’s table, with the coloured electric lights blazing from the pretty Christmas tree, the soft radiance of the room, the fragrance of flowers, the exquisite table appointments, and the pretty, kindly hostesses, was a scene well worthy of praise.

Anna Gorman trembled a little as she took her seat, and sat, wide-eyed, looking almost as if in a trance of delight. Celeste Arleson was less embarrassed, as her profession took her into fine mansions and in presence of fashionable people every day.

Jenny Bisbee looked rapturous. “Oh,” she said, “Oh! I am so happy!”

The guests all looked a trifle awestruck when the first course appeared, of grapefruit, served in tall, slender ice-glasses, each with a red ribbon tied round its stem, and a sprig of holly in the bow.

“Well, did you ever!” exclaimed Mrs. Greene. “And is this the way they do things now? Well, well! It does look ’most too good to eat, but I’m ready to tackle it.”

Anna Gorman looked a little pained, as if this homely enthusiasm jarred upon her sense of fitness. But Mona said hospitably, “Yes, indeed, Mrs. Greene,—it’s here to be eaten.”

“Now, I’m free to confess, I don’t know what spoon to take,” Mrs. Greene acknowledged, looking blankly at the row of flat silver before her.

“I know,” spoke up Jenny Bisbee, eagerly; “I read it in a Sunday paper. You begin at the outside of the row, and eat in!”

“Land! are you sure to come out right, that way? S’pose you had a fork left for your ice cream!”

“We’ll risk it,” said Mona, smiling. “Let’s use this spoon at the outside, as Jenny suggests.”

The second course was clam bouillon, and after it was served, a maid passed a dish of whipped cream.

Mrs. Greene watched carefully as Mona placed a spoonful on the top of her soup, and then she exclaimed:

“Well, if that don’t beat all! What is that, might I ask?”

“Whipped cream,” said Mona. “Won’t you have some?”

“Well, I will,—as you took some. But if that ain’t the greatest! Now, just let me tell you. A friend of mine,—she has seen some high society,—she was telling me a little how to behave. And she told me of a country person she knew, who had some soup in a cup once. And he thought it was tea, and he ca’mly puts in milk and sugar! Well, he was just kerflum-mixed, that poor man, when he found it was soup! So, my friend says, says she: ‘Now, Almira, whatever you do, don’t put milk in your soup!’ And, I declare to goodness, here you’re doin’ just that very thing!”

“Well, we won’t put any sugar in,” said Mona, pleasantly; “but I think the cream improves it. You like it, don’t you, Jenny?”

“Heavenly!” said Jenny, rolling her eyes up with such a comically blissful expression that Elise nearly choked.

As Patty had agreed, the luncheon was good and substantial, rather than elaborate. The broiled chicken, dainty vegetables, and pretty salad all met the guests’ hearty approval and appreciation; and when the ice cream was served, Mrs. Greene discovered she had both a fork and a spoon at her disposal.

“Well, I never!” she observed. “Ain’t that handy, now? I s’pose you take whichever one you like.”

“Yes,” said Mona. “You see, there is strawberry sauce for the ice cream, and that makes it seem more like a pudding.”

“So it does, so it does,” agreed Mrs. Greene, “though, land knows, it ain’t much like the puddin’s I’m accustomed to. Cottage, rice, and bread is about the variety we get, in the puddin’ line. Not but what I’m mighty grateful to get those.”

“I like chocolate pudding,” said Jenny, in a low voice, and apparently with great effort. Patty knew she made the remark because she thought it her duty to join in the conversation; and she felt such heroism deserved recognition.

“So do I,” she said, smiling kindly at Jenny. “In fact, I like anything with chocolate in it.”

“So do I,” returned Jenny, a little bolder under this expressed sympathy of tastes. “Once I had a whole box of chocolate candies,—a pound box it was. I’ve got the box yet. I’m awful careful of the lace paper.”

“I often get boxes of candy,” said Celeste, unable to repress this bit of vanity. “My customers give them to me.”

“My,” said Jenny, “that must be fine. Is it grand to be a manicure?”

“I like it,” said Celeste, “because it takes me among nice people. They’re mostly good to me.”

“My ladies are nice to me, too,” observed Anna. “I only sew in nice houses. But I don’t see the ladies much. It’s different with you, Miss Arleson.”

“Well, I don’t see nice ladies,” broke in Jenny. “My, how those queens of society can snap at you! Seems ’if they blame me for everything: the stock, the price, the slow cash boys,—whatever bothers ’em, it’s all my fault.”

“That is unkind,” said Clementine. “But shopping does make some people cross.”

“Indeed it does!” returned Jenny. “But I’m going to forget it just for to-day. When I sit here and see these things, all so beautiful and sparkly and bright, I pretend there isn’t any shop or shopping in all the world.”

Jenny’s smile was almost roguish, and lighted up her pale face till she looked almost pretty.

Then they had coffee, and snapping crackers with caps inside, and they put on the caps and laughed at each other’s grotesque appearance.

Mrs. Greene’s cap was a tri-corne, with a gay cockade, which gave her a militant air, quite in keeping with her strong face. Patty had a ruffled night-cap, which made her look grotesque, and Anna Gorman had a frilled sunbonnet.

Celeste had a Tam o’ Shanter, which just suited her piquant face, and Jenny had a Scotch cap, which became her well.

“Now,” said Mona, as she rose from the table, “I’m going to give you each a bunch of these carnations——”

“To take home?” broke in Jenny, unable to repress her eagerness.

“Yes; and I’ll have them put in boxes for you, along with your cards and souvenirs, which, of course, you must take home also. And, if there’s room, I’ll put in some of these Christmas tree thingamajigs, and you can use them for something at Christmas time.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Jenny; “maybe my two kid brothers won’t just about go crazy over ’em! Says I to myself, just the other day, ‘What’s going in them kids’ stockings is more’n I know; but something there must be.’ And,—here you are!”

“Here you are!” said Mona, tucking an extra snapping cracker or two in Jenny’s box.

“We plan to go for a motor ride, now,” said Mona. “I wonder if you girls are dressed warmly enough.”

All declared that they were, but Mona provided several extra cloaks and wraps, lest any one should take cold.

“We have two cars for our trip,” she explained; “Miss Farrington’s limousine and my own. Has any one any preference which way we shall go?”

“Well,” said Mrs. Greene, “if you ask me, I’d like best to ride up Fifth Avenue. There ought to be some fine show of dress, a bright afternoon like this. And there ain’t anything I admire like stylish clothes. That’s a real handsome gown you got on, Miss Fairfield.”

“Do you like it?” said Patty, smiling.

“Yes, I do. It’s fashionable of cut, and yet it ain’t drawed so tight as some. And a becomin’ colour, too.”

“It’s a dandy,” observed Jenny. “I see lots of good clothes on my customers, but they don’t all have such taste as Miss Fairfield’s. And all you other ladies here,” she added, politely, glancing round.

“Now, are we all ready?” asked Mona, looking over the group. “Mrs. Greene, I fear you won’t be warm enough, though your jacket is thick, isn’t it? But I’m going to throw this boa round your neck, by way of precaution. Please wear it; I have another.”

“My land! if this ain’t luxuriant,” and Mrs. Greene smoothed the neckpiece and muff that Mona put on her. “What is this fur, Miss Galbraith?”

“That is caracul. Do you like it?”

“Like it? Well, I think it’s just too scrumptious for anything. I’ll remember the feel of it for a year. And so genteel looking, too.”

“Yes, it’s a good fur,” said Mona, carelessly throwing a sable scarf round her own throat. “Now, let us start.”

Down went the eight in an elevator, and Mrs. Greene was overjoyed to find that she was attended with quite as much deference as Mona herself. Elise and Clementine took their guests in the Farrington car, leaving Patty and Mona, with their guests, for the Galbraith car.

Celeste Arleson enjoyed the ride, but she was not so openly enthusiastic as Mrs. Greene.

“My!” exclaimed that worthy, as she bobbed up and down on the springy cushions; “to think it’s come at last! Why, I never expected to ride in one of these. I saved up once for a taxicab ride, but I had to use my savings for a case of grippe, so I never felt to try it again.”

“Did you have grippe?” said Patty, sympathetically; “that was too bad.”

“Well, no; it wasn’t my grippe. Leastways, I didn’t have it. It was a lady that lived in the same boardin’ house, along with me. But she’d had misfortune, and lost her money, so I couldn’t do no less than to help her. Poor thing! she was crossed in love and it made her queer. But that Rosy,—you know, that redhead boy, Miss Fairfield?”

“Yes, I do,” returned Patty, smiling.

“Well, he says she was queered in love, and it made her cross! She works in our place, you know. Well, cross she is; and, my land! if she wasn’t cross when she had the grippe! You know, it ain’t soothin’ on folks’ nerves.”

“No,” said Patty; “so I’ve understood. Well, Mrs. Greene, now you can see plenty of fashionable costumes. Do you enjoy it?”

“My! I’m just drinkin’ ’em in! Furs is worn a lot this year, ain’t they? Well, I don’t wonder. Why, I feel real regal in this fur of yours, Miss Galbraith. I don’t know when I’ve had such a pleasure as the wearin’ of this fur.”

“Now, we’ll go through the park and up Riverside Drive,” said Mona, as they neared Eighty-sixth Street. It was pleasant in the Park, and the fine motors, with their smartly-apparelled occupants, delighted Mrs. Greene’s very soul.

“Where would you like to go, Celeste?” asked Mona; “or do you like the Park and the River drive?”

“If I might, Miss Galbraith, I’d like to go to Grant’s Tomb. I’ve always wanted to go there, but I never can get a spare hour,—or if I do, I’m too tired for the trip.”

“Certainly, you shall. Would you like that, Mrs. Greene?”

“Oh, land, yes! I’ve never been there, either. Quite some few times I’ve thought to go, but something always interferes.”

So to Grant’s Tomb they went. The other car followed, and all went in to look at the impressive mausoleum.

“Makes you feel kind o’ solemn,” said Mrs. Greene, as they came out. “Think of lyin’ there in that eternal rock, as you might say, and the whole nation comin’ to weep over your bier.”

“They don’t all weep,” observed Celeste.

“Well, in a manner o’ speakin’, they do,” said Mrs. Greene, gently. “Not real tears, maybe; but, you know, to weep over a bier, is a figger of speech; and so far as its meanin’ goes, Grant’s got it. And, after all, it’s the meanin’ that counts.”

It was nearing sundown as they started down the Drive, and Mona proposed that they go to a tea room, and then take their guests to their several homes.

“Oh, how pretty!” said Mrs. Greene, as they all went into the Marie Jeannette Tea Room.

The younger girls chose chocolate, but Mrs. Greene said, “Give me a cup of tea. There’s nothing like it, to my mind. And to think of having tea in this beautiful place, all decked with posies. I’ll just throw this fur a little open, but keep it over my shoulders. It looks so luxuriant that way.”

Mona ordered dainty sandwiches and little fancy cakes—and after a pleasant half-hour they started homeward. They left Celeste at her home first, and then took Mrs. Greene to hers.

“I live way down on East Eleventh Street,” she said, apologetically; “and I oughtn’t to let you go clear down there with me. But,—oh, well, I might as well own up,—I’d just love to roll up to our door in this car!”

“And so you shall,” said Mona, appreciating this bit of feminine vanity. “And, Mrs. Greene, if you’ll accept them, I’d like to make you a present of those furs. I don’t need them, for I have several other sets, and you’re very welcome to them.”

“My land!” said Mrs. Greene, and then could say no more, for her voice choked, and two tears rolled down her cheeks.

“And to think I thought you ladies were stuck up!” she said, in a voice of contrition. “Why, two angels straight from Heaven couldn’t be more kind or whole-soulder than you two are. But, Miss Galbraith, I can’t accept such a gift,—I—I ought not to.”

Mrs. Greene was caressing the fur as she spoke, and Mona patted her hand, saying laughingly:

“I couldn’t take it away from anybody who loves it as you do. Please keep it. I’m more glad to give it to you than you can possibly be to have it.”

So Mrs. Greene kept the furs,—and her beaming face proved the depth of thankfulness which she tried, all inadequately, to express.