h out."

"Humph!" said I, with a shrug of my shoulders. "Neither you nor my dear
old friend Raffles ever gave me credit for any brains. I have a few,
however, which I use when occasion demands," I drawled.

"Well, don't waste them here, Bunny," laughed Henriette. "Save 'em for
some place where they'll be appreciated. Maybe in your old age you'll be
back in dear old London contributing to _Punch_ if you are careful of
your wits. But how do you suppose the Oliver-Sloshingtons ever got in
here?"

"He holds the divorce record I believe," said I. "He's been married to
four social leaders already, hasn't he?"

"Yes--"

"Well, he got into the swim with each marriage--so he's got a four-ply
grip," said I.

"And the Dedbroke-Hickses?" asked Henriette. "How do you account for
them?"

"Most attractive diners and weekenders," said I. "They got all the
laughs at your dinner to the Archbishop of Decanterbury, and their man
Smathers tells me they're the swellest things going at week-end parties
because of his ingenuity at cotillion leading and her undeniable charms
as a flirt. By Jove! she's that easy with men that even I tremble with
anxiety whenever she comes into the house."

"But how do they live?--they haven't a cent to their names," said
Henriette.

"Simplicity itself," said I. "He is dressed by his tailors and she by
her dressmaker; and as for food, they take home a suit-case full of it
from every house-party they attend. They're so gracious to the servants
that they don't have to think of tips; and as for Smathers, and Mrs.
Dedbroke-Hicks's maid, they're paid reporters on the staff of _The Town
Tattler_ and are willing to serve for nothing for the opportunities for
items the connection gives them."

"Well--I don't envy them in the least," said Henriette. "Poor things--to
be always taking and never giving must be an awful strain, though to be
sure their little trolley party out to Tiverton and back was
delightful--"

"Exactly; and with car-fare and sandwiches, and the champagne supplied
free by the importers, for the advertisement, it cost them exactly
twelve dollars and was set down as the jolliest affair of the season,"
said I. "I call that genius of a pretty high order. I wouldn't pity them
if I were you. They're happy."

"Mrs. Innitt, though--I envy her," said Henriette; "that is, in a way.
She has no conversation at all, but her little dinners are the swellest
things of the season. Never more than ten peop