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Updated: June 25, 2025
"I should say I did. I manicured him for his first society portrait a full-length of Mrs. Harmon B. Driscoll." Mrs. Heeny smiled indulgently on her hearers. "I know everybody. If they don't know ME they ain't in it, and Claud Walsingham Popple's in it. But he ain't nearly AS in it," she continued judicially, "as Ralph Marvell the little fellow, as you call him."
Heeny, with her old black bag and waterproof, was established in one of the grand bedrooms lined with mirrors. She had been loud in her joy at seeing her little friend that morning, but four years had passed since their last parting, and her personality had grown remote to him.
"How queer! But they haven't all got sisters, have they? It must be fearfully poky for the ones that haven't." "They get their mothers or their married friends," said Mrs. Heeny omnisciently. "Married gentlemen?" enquired Mrs. Spragg, slightly shocked, but genuinely desirous of mastering her lesson. "Mercy, no! Married ladies." "But are there never any gentlemen present?" pursued Mrs.
You'd better tell her you want to dine with Mrs. Fairford," Mrs. Heeny added humorously, as she gathered her waterproof together and stooped for her bag. "Have I got to write the note, then?" Mrs. Spragg asked with rising agitation. Mrs. Heeny reflected. "Why, no. I guess Undine can write it as if it was from you. Mrs. Fairford don't know your writing." This was an evident relief to Mrs.
Small, well-knit, fair, he sat stroking his slight blond moustache and looking at her with kindly, almost tender eyes; but he left it to his sister and the others to draw her out and fit her into the pattern. Mrs. Fairford talked so well that the girl wondered why Mrs. Heeny had found her lacking in conversation.
Some new quality seemed added to Undine's beauty: it had a milder bloom, a kind of melting grace, which might have been lent to it by the moisture in her mother's eyes. "So you're to see the old gentleman for the first time at this dinner?" Mrs. Heeny pursued, sweeping the live strands up into a loosely woven crown. "Yes. I'm frightened to death!"
Heeny had behaved with extreme discretion, refraining from all direct allusions to Undine's misadventure; but her silence was obviously the criticism of a superior mind. Once again Undine had disregarded her injunction to "go slow," with results that justified the warning. Mrs. Heeny's very reserve, however, now marked her as a safe adviser; and Undine sprang up and called her in. "My sakes.
Spragg, once reconciled or at least resigned to the mysterious necessity of having to "entertain" a friend of Undine's, had yielded to the first touch on the weak springs of her garrulity. She had not seen Mrs. Heeny for two days, and this friendly young man with the gentle manner was almost as easy to talk to as the masseuse. And then she could tell him things that Mrs.
Henley Fairford gave another of her natty little dinners last Wednesday as usual it was smart small and exclusive and there was much gnashing of teeth among the left-outs as Madame Olga Loukowska gave some of her new steppe dances after dinner' that's the French for new dance steps," Mrs. Heeny concluded, thrusting the documents back into her bag. "Do you know Mrs. Fairford too?"
Moffatt began to buy extensively it is estimated in art circles that values have gone up at least seventy-five per cent." But the price of the Grey Boy did not interest Paul, and he said a little impatiently: "I'd rather hear about my mother." "To be sure you would! You wait now." Mrs. Heeny made another dive, and again began to spread her clippings on her lap like cards on a big black table.
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