trip, had failed her at the last moment. Now her glance rested on the two massive trunks and the litter of smart, glittering bags that strewed the room. A relieved look crept into her eyes. A knock at the door. A resplendent figure was revealed at its opening. The look in Harrietta’s eyes vanished.

Irish Mary looked like the mother of a girl who was earning five thousand a week. She was marcelled, silk-clad, rustling, gold-meshed, and, oh, how real in spite of it all as she beamed upon the dazzled Harrietta.

“Out with ye!” trumpeted this figure, brushing aside Harrietta’s proffered chair. “There’ll be no stayin’ here for you. You’re coming along with me, then, bag and baggage.” She glanced sharply about. “Where’s your maid, dearie?”