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Updated: June 24, 2025
A few straggling couples like themselves came in with the same sheepish but bright-eyed hesitancy. At the elevator Miss Blondheim and Mr. Epstein were lingering over good-nights. The quartette rode up to their respective floors together the girls regarding each other with shy, happy eyes; the men covering up their self-consciousness with sallies.
"Sweets to the sweet," he said. "Silly!" But she giggled under her breath. They pushed back their chairs and strolled down the aisle between the tables. She smiled brightly to her right and left. "Good morning, Mrs. Blondheim. Is it warm enough for you?" "Good morning," replied Mrs. Blondheim, stabbing a bit of omelet with vindictive fork. Mrs. Epstein looked after the pair with warming eyes.
In the lobby Miss Bella Blondheim leaned an elbow on the clerk's desk and talked to a stout young man with a gold-mounted elk's tooth on his watch-fob, and black hair that curled close to his head. They made a group of four for a moment, Miss Blondheim regarding the arrivals with bright, triumphant eyes. "My friend, Mr. Louis Epstein," she said. The men shook hands.
Miss Sternberger threw herself before them like a melodrama queen flagging a train. "Hello, Bella!" she said in a voice as low as a 'cello. Miss Blondheim, who had once sold the greatest number of aprons at a charity bazar, turned cold eyes upon the intruder. "Hello, Myra!" she said in cool tones of dismissal. There was a pause; the color swept up and surged over Miss Blondheim's face.
Mrs. Blondheim's interest and gaze wandered down the dining-hall. "I wish you'd look at that Sternberger girl actin' up! Ain't it disgusting?" "Please pass the salt, Mrs. Blondheim. That's the trouble with hotel cooking they don't season. At home we like plenty of it, too. I season and season, and then at the table my husband has to have more."
Miss Sternberger rose languidly to her feet. "Well," she said, "I guess I'll take a stroll and go up to bed." "Don't be so fidgety, Miss Sternberger; sit down by me and talk." Miss Sternberger smiled. "I'll see you later, Mrs. Blondheim; and don't forget that preparation I was tellin' you about Sloand's Mosquito Skit. Just rub the bottle stopper over your pillow and see if it don't work."
"Not tho bad, but pa can't get away yet for a week. The fall goods ain't all out yet." "Ain't it awful, the way that man is all for business, Mrs. Blondheim? This is my son Louie." "Well, well, Mr. Epstein. I've heard a lot about you. I want you to meet my daughter Bella. You ought to make friends." "Yeth'm," said Mr. Epstein.
Her last glance, full of significance, was for Mr. Arnheim. The floor above he also left the elevator, the smile still on his lips. Left alone, Mr. Epstein turned to Miss Blondheim. "Good night, dearie," he whispered. "Thweet dreamth." "Good night, Louie," she replied. "Same to you." Mr.
"She wouldn't have met him at all if it hadn't been for Bella," pursued Mrs. Blondheim. The object of Mrs. Blondheim's solicitude, fresh as spring in crisp white linen, turned her long eyes upon Mr. Arnheim. "You ought to feel flattered, Mr. Arnheim, that I let you come over to my table." Mr. Arnheim regarded her through a mist of fragrant coffee steam. "You betcher life I feel flattered.
Blondheim stabbed her crochet needle into her spool. "I usually dip my smelts in bread crumbs. Have you ever tried them that way, Hanna?" "Julius don't eat smelts." They moved toward the dining-room. Late that afternoon Miss Sternberger and Mr. Arnheim returned from a sail. Their faces were flushed and full of shy, sweet mystery.
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