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Butterick, and in about the middle of April of every year, might be noticed the comment, "Madame arrived first time this year " and then, more than probably the addition, "House-party on the " and thereafter the date, whatever it may have been. Now, on this occasion, as she always did, she beamed in silence and waited. "Good morning, Mrs. Butterick. You got my letter?" "Yes, madam."
Traill, and probably a lady," she said. She laid no stress on the last word, much as the temptation assailed her. "It's quite likely they may be down to lunch. When they come, there is no need to say that I am here, unless, of course, Mr. Traill asks you. You'd better go and change your dress at once." Then she turned to Mrs. Butterick. "You've taken off the chintz covers?" she said.
"It's so cold when you get dumped in the snow," said Mrs. Elder, indifferently. "I hate snow down my neck," volunteered Mrs. Dave Dyer, with an unpleasant look at Carol and, turning her back, she bubbled at Rita Simons, "Dearie, won't you run in this evening? I've got the loveliest new Butterick pattern I want to show you." Carol crept back to her chair.
He had come down to me in my office at the Butterick Building to see if I would not come over the following Saturday as usual and stay until Monday. He had secured something, was planning something. I should see. At the elevator he waved me a gay "so long see you Saturday!" But on Friday, as I was talking with some one at my desk, a telegram was handed me. It was from Mrs.
Butterick and the gardener if he happened to be about the grounds, might well represent sordid vulgarity to her. He had certainly taken every precaution to be alone. Yet having drawn all these facts into consideration, she was undaunted.
He probably had to keep quiet for a few months after she'd gone, and lay restrictions on the household expenditure." Then they drew up before the hall door and Traill helped her to alight. "I guess we'll make old Mrs. Butterick give us some lunch first. Are you hungry?" He opened the hall door and stood aside to let her enter. "Yes, frightfully. I suppose it was the drive."
And I had smelled before that cold, dank, furnished draught of air that hurried by her to escape immurement in the furnished house. She was stout, and her face and lands were as white as though she had been drowned in a barrel of vinegar. One hand held together at her throat a buttonless flannel dressing sacque whose lines had been cut by no tape or butterick known to mortal woman.
"You remember, when we were on our way to the East how we talked about this great, wonderful city, and how we meant to conquer it and never let it get the best of us? We were going to be just the same fellows we had always been, and never let it master us. It has downed you, old man. You have changed from a maverick into a butterick." "Don't see exactly what you are driving at," said William.
Two conspicuous American establishments remaining open in the Avenue de l'Opera are the Butterick shop and Brentano's. Mr. Lewis J. Ford, manager of Brentano's, said that they had lost a quarter of their employes and fifty per cent. of their trade by reason of the war, but proposed to keep open just the same.
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